


like a phoenix

by rageynerd



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Camelot, Canon Era, Ealdor, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Good Morgana (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Minor Gwaine/Percival (Merlin), Mutual Pining, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Canon Compliant, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Knights (Merlin), Sad Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Sad Merlin (Merlin), Slow Burn, also i don't know how castles work sorry, don't bother looking for a timeline that resembles the show, dont worry, historically inaccurate as always, idiots to lovers, straight up not having a good time rn, they have a great time later, you won't find it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 56,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23625562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rageynerd/pseuds/rageynerd
Summary: Merlin is arrested for sorcery in Camelot. He is supposed to be executed at dawn, and he is-- except somehow he survives.The only problem is there's a new prophecy this time, one that keeps Merlin away from everyone he knows and loves.When the prophecy allows them to reunite again, Arthur and Merlin start on their journey to right a generation of wrongs, and find out what exactly a manservant could mean to his prince.
Relationships: Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Morgana & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 254
Kudos: 457





	1. Crossed Hearts, Hope to Die

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Undertaker, please take it slow.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22802116) by [yrelec](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yrelec/pseuds/yrelec). 



> At the end of "Undertaker, please take it slow." by @yrelec, the author makes a request: "Please, somebody, use this as your brainchild. Tag me, for sure, use this as the opening chapter, create a 50 million word work based solely on these thousand words and go all out. I implore you."
> 
> Well, here it is! I'm sure someone has done this already by now. The first chapter is not "Undertaker", however, there are some lines from it that make an appearance. I also cannot guarantee it will be anywhere close to 50 million words, but I hope this will do. 
> 
> All the thanks and gratitude in the world for @notamortician, for being kind enough to beta this work and being my number one cheerleader. With that being said, all existing mistakes and typos are my own.
> 
> I don't recommend you try to find the show's timeline within this work. It is a fruitless effort, as I've kinda just gone ahead and plucked whatever I liked from various seasons lol. Oops! Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I present: Two Pining Fools in Love (Except One of Them is Dead, Kinda.)

When Merlin imagined himself on his knees in front of Arthur, he’d pictured something with a little more atmosphere. Maybe even some candles. As it was, the only type of flame Merlin seemed likely to get was of the large, dramatic variety, and probably in front of hundreds of people.

Merlin was losing his trial.

Not that you could even call it one, with all the chaos, and his lack of any kind of plea. A hoard of guards had come to his room in the middle of the night and dragged him harshly by the arms, despite his protests, into the room where he was currently meeting his fate. Originally, he had thought the worst part was that he _knew_ the guards (and they knew _him._ Hell, he had just talked the one on his right into asking the girl of his dreams out on a date). 

He hadn’t known where Arthur was, then. A naive part of him hoped he would be asleep. But when they burst into the throne room, there he was, standing just before the thrones, awaiting him. 

Merlin hadn’t been able to look away from his face since. His sweating, pale, contorted face. This was the most uncertain he’d ever seen his prince. But what killed him— what _really_ crushed his heart— was the scared and open anticipation, as if he was waiting for the punchline, for some wild explanation Merlin could always come up with on the spot.

More than anything, Merlin wished he could give that to him. To both of them.

“Merlin—” Arthur cleared his throat. His voice was quiet, and the room hushed around him, although Gwen had a hard time muffling her sobs in Morgana’s blue silk dress. “Why are you here, Merlin?”

Why was he here? That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? So he told the truth. “I don’t know.”

Uther stood from his throne in an outrage. “So you deny your sorcery? You deny that you’ve been conspiring against Arthur under the pretenses of being his manservant?”

Merlin immediately tensed, and he bit back a wince from the pain it caused. “I have never in my life betrayed Arthur Pendragon. Think of me what you must. But if you remember one thing, if you _believe_ one thing, remember that I was loyal to my prince.”

And that was all Uther needed to hear. He had not denied his sorcery. While the room erupted into whispers, Arthur tried to say something, but once again failed to speak. All that came out were some strangled grunts. If Merlin didn’t think this was the last time he would be able to see those blue eyes, he would've looked away. There weren’t words to describe what shone there. A mixture of things, perhaps. Disbelief and betrayal and fear and _grief._

“Take him to the dungeon,” Uther commanded, and the guards hauled him up by the forearms. Arthur didn’t say a thing. No one did. 

Merlin kept his eyes fixed on the floor. He didn’t see a way out of this, and he certainly didn’t want to see the faces of all the people he had caused pain. Maybe this was all a dream. If it was, he hoped to wake up soon.

***

“ _Merlin,”_ someone hissed. “ _Merlin!_ ”

Merlin startled from where he was shackled to the cold stone floor of the dungeon, leaning forward but not making it to the bars of the cell.

In the darkness, he could make out shaggy brown hair. “Merlin,” they whispered, and all the sudden he was recognizable. 

“ _Gwaine,”_ he breathed. “I can’t believe you’re here.” Then he straightened up, a metal collar constricting painfully around his neck. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re here. Get out! What were you thinking!” If Uther thought Gwaine was conspiring with Merlin he’d be tied up right next to him on the pyre.

“Oh, don’t be a martyr now, my friend,” he jested in his usual Gwaine way, except for the voice crack that gave him away. He cleared his throat. “I was starting to think you were invincible, Merlin.”

Merlin tried to smile. “Me, too.” His heart broke in two, not for the first time tonight. And it hit him, then— this was it. This was _it._ He was going to die. Arthur wouldn’t be riding off to save him this time, there wouldn’t be a last minute cure… Merlin found himself wondering what would happen to his soul when he was gone. Perhaps he would stay on this plane, watching over Arthur; perhaps he would still get to mold Arthur into the man and the king he knew he would be, even in death.

Logically, he had always known his discovery was a possibility. It had happened before, with Lancelot, and later Gwaine. And of course, Gaius, on that first day. Every time Uther condemned someone of magic he knew it could’ve been him, but… knowing you could die and _knowing—_ it was nearly inconceivable. 

“Deep breaths, Merlin. Deep breaths.” 

He must have been hyperventilating. His mind was racing with all these ideas— that there were too many words left unspoken, to everyone, about everything. And not nearly enough time to get it all out.

He took a deep breath. “You’ve been a great friend to me, Gwaine.”

Gwaine choked a little. “Come on, Merlin, don’t do that—”

“Listen to me. I can’t protect Arthur anymore. Promise me that you’ll keep him safe. Promise me you’ll help him fulfill his destiny.” The shackles around his joints grated against his skin, so he took a step back. Gwaine was nodding. Merlin's eyes were adjusting to the darkness now, and he swore he caught a glimmer of moisture on his friend’s cheek, but didn’t say a word.

Gwaine smiled, and Merlin could see the effort, could see Gwaine being strong for him. “Arthur doesn’t deserve you. He never did.”

“Gwaine—”

“I know,” he interrupted. “I know. I promise. I have to go soon, but— I— well, I just wanted to tell you. We’re fighting for you out there, Merlin.”

“I know you are,” Merlin told him, but secretly, privately, it was exactly what he needed to hear.

Gwaine chuckled weakly. “I don’t think Arthur quite believes it yet. Everyone else— Leon, Elyan, Perceval, even Gwen and Morgana seem to be realizing quite quickly, but you know our Arthur. Thick-headed knight.”

Merlin smiled halfheartedly. 

“But he’s fighting for you, too. He’s trying to stop the ex— you know. We’ll get you out of here, Merlin. I promise.”

Merlin let his magic loose, just a small tether, and pictured a pressure on Gwaine’s shoulder, like a pat of an old friend. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

***

Gwaine was the last and only person to visit him before his time.

In just a few short hours, the kingdom was awake, and with it their hatred. The king’s men must have set up the stake just before dawn. It stood tall in the square, high on a platform, where the people would be safe from his destruction. Hay and wood were piled at the bottom, just high enough to reach his feet. He was already there, tied to the wooden pole, listening to Uther’s declaration: “People of Camelot, there is an evil sorcerer within our walls. Someone I took under my own wing, gave a place and a home inside this castle. He was even the manservant to my son.”

Merlin heard the gasps from the crowds around him. He knew these people. He was down here, in lower town, _daily,_ buying produce from their stalls, visiting their families, offering his assistance as the physician’s apprentice. He’d healed most of the children in this audience.

And now, they would watch him burn.

His heart ached with the immensity of it all. He forced himself to meet their faces with sad eyes. He had disappointed a kingdom.

But anger flared, too— bright and hopeless. The irony of dying from the very same thing you were trying to protect was too much for him.

Time seemed to go too fast and too slow all at once. Uther finished his speech. Merlin could see Morgana on the balcony, as far away from Uther as possible, tears spilling over her cheeks. “ _I’m sorry,”_ she mouthed to him, “ _I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”_

Merlin let his magic out and his anger back in, let the intangible strings of consciousness drift over to her. He knew she and him were the same. He reached out to that part of her, and sent a burst of comfort and warmth her way. _“Trust someone,”_ he said.

Morgana’s eyes widened, and Merlin turned his head away. If this was his last chance for goodbyes, he’d say as many as he could.

One of the king’s men stepped forward with a lighted torch and bent towards the pyre. Merlin held his breath, and ember by ember, straw by straw, he was alight. There would be no more time for goodbyes.

The fire came up to his feet, engulfing his boots, running over his pant legs, and the heat was _overwhelming_ . The panic struck him then— he was _burning to death._

And he still couldn’t see Arthur. The selfish part of him wished the prince would come out and see him, because he was dying, and if there was one person he wanted to see before he went, it’s the other side of his coin. 

But he knew he couldn’t ask that of him— to watch someone you know, even someone you think has betrayed you, die a painful death is a hard price to pay. And he knew that he may be suffering for an hour, but his friends, his family, whatever they felt… they would be feeling it for the rest of their lives. 

The flames spread quicker than he expected them to. They were pulling up over his torso now, and he realized belatedly that he didn't feel any pain. Blazing, uncomfortable heat, _yes._ But no pain. Even as he looked down and saw the blisters, the skin splitting open on his legs— he couldn't _feel it._

A blood-curdling scream reached his ears, and he thought, _Is that me?_ for the smallest second, until he looked over the flames and finally spotted Arthur. Arthur, _screaming._ Leon and Elyan were holding him, tugging him by the arms, and Gods bless him, he was trying to fight them off. To get to Merlin. Arthur’s face was red and chafed from being this close to the fire, and he was coughing from the smoke he inhaled, and he screamed until his voice ran out. Merlin had seen grief before. He'd felt it. But never like this. 

The way Arthur’s voice sounded, the look on his face— like someone had reached inside and ripped out the other half of him. 

Merlin felt tingling all over his body now, but it was a familiar tingle, the one of his magic. And it made sense now. His magic was protecting him, without ever needing the order to. But even if he wasn't feeling the pain, his body was decaying before everyone’s eyes. And there were few ways to come back from that. 

Merlin met Arthur’s eyes, bright from the flames, shining blue from the tears. “Goodbye,” he whispered, and he knew Arthur got the message. He was on his knees now— the first prince to ever kneel before his manservant, he’s sure. His golden head hung, devastated, and if Merlin weren’t so helplessly far away he’d tell him that hiding away was a fruitless effort—just look what happened to Merlin. 

He watched as Leon moved to put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, but for some reason he stopped himself halfway. His hand didn't even waver in the air. Merlin couldn't hear anything, either. It was like time had stopped.

_It was like time had stopped._

“Young warlock.” A woman with dark hair and well-worn clothes appeared before him, standing at the base of the flames. “I am Finna, High Priestess of the Old Religion.”

Merlin shook his head. If the people had any idea that yet another sorcerer showed up, and at his execution no less… “Nice to meet you, Finna. Are you going to get me down from here?”

Finna smiled patiently at him. “No, Emrys. You will get down all on your own.”

He deflated. His wrists were starting to burn from the excoriation of the rope. “I can’t. I don’t have a spell for that.”

Finna gave him a reproachful look. “You are Emrys, are you not? You could do nearly anything. You have virtually no limit to your power— you simply have to _allow_ your magic to do its job. It’s very important that you survive this, Emrys.”

“I agree. But—”

“But there is a catch. When you leave here, you must not return to Camelot. Everything must be as if you had died here today. No one— your friends, your family, and _especially_ not Arthur— can know that you live.”

At least Finna had the good grace to look apologetic. “ _What?_ No. No deal. How does that help anything?” Merlin asked incredulously. He looked out to the crowd once more, staring at Arthur’s bowed head, at the look of mixed feelings and remorse on his friends’ faces. “I won’t have anyone. I can’t— I can’t even tell my _mum?”_

Finna raised waved a hand toward the balcony. “You’ll have Morgana. She is our kin. I will not ask that she is held to the same standard.” She threw a hard look at Morgana. Merlin turned to look at her, too. She was white as a sheet, green eyes blown wide as she could make them. The contrast of her dark curls gave her a beautiful, haunted look. Her hands trembled on the balcony. She looked so uncharacteristically uncertain. “But if you trifle with destiny,” Finna continued, “you will be sure to regret it.”

“Is that a threat?” Morgana said bravely. Her hands clenched white. 

“Not from me, Seer. But you should know more than anyone— there are two paths these men can take. If Emrys leaves and allows Arthur to grieve, the ban will be lifted in Camelot, and Arthur will fulfill his destiny to be a great king. This may take some time, but he will need you afterwards, for reasons that are still unclear. If you don’t come back at the right time, Camelot will once more fall to tyranny.”

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, already knowing the answer to the question he was about to ask. “And if I don’t? If I save myself and tell Arthur I’m alive, at the very least?”

Finna grimaced. “Then the ban will not be lifted, and Arthur won’t have the chance to fulfill his destiny— a Seer has had this vision many times. It has not changed as being the most likely course of action.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “There will still be too much pain in Camelot. And Arthur will pay for that with his life. This is the only way, Emrys. I’m sorry.”

Merlin glanced at Arthur, on his knees for him. A tear slipped out. Then he looked at Morgana, who looked bloody _terrified._ She loved her brother, despite what she may say about him. She nodded, and Merlin nodded back. He swiveled his head back to the High Priestess again. 

“I understand.”

One day, when Arthur completes his destiny, when he has become the best king Camelot will ever know, he will return. But for now, Merlin closed his eyes and let his magic run all over his body, memorizing every piece of him. A duplicate of himself materialized, created to burn. With a last farewell to Finna and Morgana, he transformed into a creature all his own: a tiny dragon, unique looking, and Pendragon-red. Finna vanished, and as Leon’s hand finally landed on Arthur’s shoulder, he flew away, leaving his friends, family, and burning body behind.

***

Merlin was dead, but Emrys was not.

He stayed with the druids, in a camp deep in the woods, within the borders of a far-off kingdom. Merlin missed Camelot like one missed a severed limb; it took him a while to find his purpose. After all, he had no official job in the druid camp— everyone was equal, and he _liked_ that, he did. But it’s lonely, here, too. And everyone might _technically_ be equal, but he’ll be damned if he can’t fight off their strange hero-worship of the great Emrys.

He had to admit, it was nice to be acknowledged for once… but that just wasn't who he was. The fact was he wasn’t a hero. He was just a man. 

“Emrys!” a small girl with blonde pigtails trotted after him, interrupting his walk to the healer’s tent; he liked to help out there, when he could. It reminded him of Gaius. 

“Amabel!” he answered back, as she ran into his legs. He swung her up into his arms, and she tugged on one of his ears. 

“Emrys, tell me a story!” Amabel bounced in his arms, pouting. 

Merlin looked at the sky; the sun would be setting soon. He’d been here, outside, for so long that sometimes he failed to register the change in light. “What?” He laughed, tweaking her nose. “I told you and the other kids a story last night. I only know one, you know.”

“Story!” Amabel cried. “Story!”

Unfortunately, the other druid children heard her pleas, and they all ran from their tents to gather around him. Their parents, who had been working outside since sunrise, smiled at them together. The people bowed almost automatically as he walked, making his way to one of the campfires. He tried to shake his head while he talked to the children— _no, don’t do that, don’t bow to me—_ but they ignored him. Prophecies meant a lot around here, apparently. 

He wished they didn’t. Every time someone bowed to him, he remembered Arthur, at the base of the pyre, unchecked in his devastation. 

Yes, he had lost his purpose. He would just have to find a new one, for a while. And keep hoping and hoping.

Merlin sat down on a fire-warmed log, giving the kids a moment to do the same, and pulled Amabel up onto his lap. He smiled, and they grinned excitedly back at him. “In a land far, far away, lay a great kingdom. There was a boy there, too, and he was new, and knew so little about the world, except that he had a great destiny. And that great destiny relied on a young prince. Except, and who would have guessed, they didn’t get along at all!” The children cracked up in giggle fits. “His golden hair shone far too brightly for his personality, which, frankly, left something to be desired… ”

***

It took him less time than he thought it would to blend in with the druids. They’re all so kind and welcoming you’d have never guessed he’d just met them mere months ago.

Merlin tried his best to be useful to the community; he found that healing with nothing but his magic was actually very easy. All he had to do was wish for their well-being, imagine their wound all closed up, and they were as good as new. Most days. Some days, when he's out of his head a little, they’d get a scar.

He babysat the children, too. It was a smaller camp, so he knew all of the parents, and what druid wouldn’t be honored to have their children protected by the great Emrys? Amabel, he’d noticed, was especially attached to him. She was the healer’s daughter, so she spent quite a bit of time with himself and Healer Baldwin in their tent, watching them seal cuts and vanish bruises. She loved his stories, even though they were all parts of the only one he knew how to tell. The other kids liked it, too— always following him around, meeting him at the crack of dawn to ask what happened next— but Amabel, she was _enraptured._ It made the story worth telling. 

Sometimes, though not often, he was a source of wisdom for the community. Although he couldn't fathom why— even if he did have this great power, it wasn't as if he was particularly knowledgeable about anything— pregnant women would come to him to ask for his blessing and well-wishes for the child; magic-users of all ages requested training of their abilities so they could one day be half as strong as Emrys; men asked for advice on how to best provide for their families.

He didn’t have any cosmic answers for them, of course, except his best judgement. Nevertheless, it seemed to do the trick.

One day, as he was patching up a bad scrape on Alban, son of one of the Seers, he got a visitor. Alban tried his best to look stoic as he presented his bleeding knee to Merlin, seeming to be slightly embarrassed that he let himself get tripped up on camp by a girl.

“Don’t worry,” Merlin laughed, softly, as he guided Alban gently to his seat. “We’ve all been bested by Beatrice one way or another. She’s a force to be reckoned with.” And it was true: for the tiny little thing that she was, she held no fear. Or anger-management skills. The druids were a peaceful people, but as long as Beatrice continued to _mean_ well… Merlin had a feeling no one would dare try reform. 

Alban seemed to be appeased by this, and relaxed just slightly. He reminded Merlin of Arthur that way, in the way he deflated when he thought he hadn’t proved himself, in the way that he was instantly gratified at Merlin’s reassurances that he didn’t need to prove himself in the first place, that he had done more than enough.

Merlin _ached._

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a hand gently to Alban’s scrape. He let himself imagine a pleasant warmth seeping into the wound and blooming from the inside, cleaning out the blood and mending the skin. The cleaning took a bit longer than expected, since Beatrice had tripped Alban while he was cleaning the horses’ mess, but it was easier than it was when he first started doing this. His power had grown exponentially. He hadn’t known he could do this much with it, all on his own— he simply needed to utilize his gift. In fact, he never really needed spells anymore, either. They had done their job of giving his magic direction long ago.

Alban, his knee fully healed now, looked down at his leg and back up to Merlin, then down and back up again. “Wow,” he said. “That was fast, Emrys. Healer Baldwin usually takes ages!”

Merlin blushed. “Don’t mention it,” he mumbled, ruffled his hair, and sent Alban on his way.

“Surely,” an elegant drawl called to him from the tent flap, “a little boy didn’t say something to make you blush.”

Merlin snapped his head up so quick he thought perhaps he’d have to get Healer Baldwin to look at his neck. His eyes fell upon raven hair cascading down her emerald clad shoulders. It was a gorgeous, expensive gown, bringing out the vibrant green of her eyes. A year did not change her superior genes, apparently. Merlin was infinitely jealous and exceedingly happy.

“Morgana!” he (nearly) screeched. He leapt to his feet, and Morgana instantly swept forward to envelop him in a hug. She smelled of peaches, even though it was not yet the season for them.

“Merlin! How _are_ you?” She pulled back slightly to look at him, green eyes fond, expression warm. He had missed her so much, this girl who had become his dearest friend over these months.

He smiled as best he could while he fought off all the emotions this visit brought. “I’m good, yeah. Everyone here’s great, and using my magic, it’s just—”

Morgana deflated slightly, but she smiled back. She was happy for him, but he cursed himself for being so tactless. “Yes,” she said. “I imagine it is.”

“Morgana, I—” but before he could apologize, Morgana turned in a swish of skirts, sitting down elegantly on his patient’s mat. 

She patted the spot next to her. She looked comfortable already, as if she was the one who had been working here for months and not Merlin. “Come, Darling, and tell me everything.”

Merlin sat, and they chatted away aimlessly about Merlin’s new life: his favorite druids, their different abilities, what they’ve been teaching him. He pointedly did _not_ mention the whole Emrys thing, because he’d had enough of that, thank you very much. He did, however, talk about his powers: how they’re growing faster than he can keep a hold of. He told Morgana about telling stories to the kids every few weeks, the way they ate it up, and he didn’t even need to tell Morgana what story he told them— the piteous look crossed her face almost instantly. But he couldn’t make himself reject that feeling, so he just swallowed hard and pretended his eyes weren't stinging. “I think Amabel’s getting bored with this one, though.” Merlin chuckled weakly. “And Beatrice might attempt to throw me in the fire if I tell it again.”

Morgana giggled, nose scrunching up on her face, a warm hand on his shoulder. He gathered up the courage to say what he’d been dying to since she walked in:

“How’s Camelot?” he asked. His heart raced at the look on her face. “You know, because— the children need—”

Morgana shifted uncomfortably, adjusting her gown beneath her. She tugged a curl that’d gone astray back into place, and hesitantly lifted her eyes to his. Merlin had to stop himself from panicking. _Is it Arthur? Is he alright?_ he wanted to ask, because who's protecting him from all this danger now that Merlin’s gone? Morgana could help somewhat with her Sight, but she had to keep it a secret from at least Uther, even if she were comfortable telling Arthur. And he had never heeded her warnings before, anyway.

As his anxiety climbed, she started to look guilty. “Sorry,” she said, “everyone’s fine! I just don’t know how to—” She took a deep breath and spoke in a deliberate tone and word-choice. “Everyone’s in a really vulnerable state right now. I don’t know if I should—”

He put his hand over hers. “I know. It’s okay.” They sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being each other’s breath and the druids running a day’s work outside. 

When Morgana spoke again, her voice was quiet. “They are doing as well as they can do. Gwen is quieter these days. I think she’s more somber without you to cheer her up, but she’s trying. The knights, those pig-headed buffoons, are still trying to wrap their minds around everything. Things were…” she trailed off, head tilting to the side. “...Chaotic. But they’ve settled as well as they’re able, given the circumstances.”

Merlin’s heart panged for Gwen. His sweet girl, his best friend before he left Camelot. His best friend, still, though more distant than Morgana at the moment. To think that she was missing him like this, even months later— that his life had this effect on her— was humbling and heartbreaking. 

He didn’t want to hear anymore about their heartbreak. But he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “And Arthur?”

Morgana turned to look at him. He couldn’t read the expression on her face. She was silent for a long time, staring straight into Merlin’s eyes; it was almost accusatory. “He’s… Arthur.”

Merlin wasn't sure what that meant. Was he the same old Arthur? Arrogant, kind, bully, honorable Arthur? Had he got a new manservant to chase around the castle and order around? 

“He’s grieving,” Morgana added. “In his own way. He misses you.”

He flinched back. Now he wasn’t sure what was worse: Arthur’s pain, or the possibility of being forgotten. 

Morgana lay her head on Merlin’s shoulder, and that’s all they said on the matter.

***

Morgana’s on a hunting trip.

That’s what she said, anyway. Arthur tried to remind her that the king’s ward doesn’t _go_ on hunting trips, that it’s a pastime reserved for the prince and his knights, but… go ahead and try to tell Morgana to do something she doesn’t want to do. It never ends well. Arthur knew from experience.

He'd sent countless men to accompany her on her hunts, since she couldn't very well go on her own, and Guinevere certainly wouldn’t be much help. In fact, Gwen never went at all.

The men always returned, looking confused and embarrassed, but never with Morgana. She managed to lose them every time, so consistently that he thought either he needed to replace his men or he needed to start giving Morgana more credit. 

Morgana usually returned a couple days later, never bringing anything back truly fruitful that would warrant that time. When asked about it, all she did was smile and say, “A woman must have her secrets, Arthur. You should try some alone time. To reflect. It might do you good."

Arthur had been startled when she said that to him. As if he needed any reminders. As if, despite the people hanging onto him every minute of every day, he wasn’t already alone. 

Morgana should be back any minute now— his men had come crawling to him two days before, so it’s about her usual time. He shook his head. How long did she think the king would allow this?

Slowly, he performed all his necessary duties to get his start on the day. Without a manservant to help him it took a little longer— and without Merlin to help him, he thought with a jolt to his heart, it's miserably faster— but he managed to bathe and dress himself without too much difficulty. He didn’t bother doing anything else. He wouldn’t be able to think straight, anyway. Everything felt sluggish now, tainted with something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He heard Merlin’s laugh echoing in his chambers, sees visions of him dusting the shelves, dimples popping in his cheeks as he teases Arthur; or polishing the armor, his brow furrowing with the effort to get a scuff out, dark hair bent over the silver. 

Every time Arthur made a pompous remark, or went too hard training his knights, or forgot to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ to the staff, he heard Merlin in his head. He knew the exact quip he would use, replayed it over and over until he could _hear_ the smirk in Merlin’s voice as he called him _Prince Prat._ But he coped well enough, he thought, as he took a seat at his table, picking over his breakfast. He spent most of the time training the knights these days. He knew there'd been whispers, that maybe it’s to increase the fight against magic, but the reality was that when he was training he couldn't think about all these thoughts in his head. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on Merlin.

That was saved for when he was under cover from the night, and he didn’t need to hide his face, or pretend that Merlin was an expendable manservant. Where he was free to shed a tear as the image returned to him, unbidden, of Merlin’s burnt body falling to the ground from the extinguished flames, charred and melted over and over and _over._

***

The knights didn’t know how to act around Arthur. They were all coming to terms with Merlin’s magic— it made sense, in a way. Didn’t it? Not that Lancelot had ever had trouble believing it, of course.

But Arthur hadn’t said a word about it, and they didn’t know how to bring it up. In the armory, Lancelot watched the others carefully as they undressed out of their armor after practice, sweat beating down their foreheads. They were all talking about it, trying to make peace with the fact that someone very close to them had magic, and was able to keep it hidden from them, all that time. 

He was ready for any signs of hostility, ready to defend Merlin if he had to, but the moment so far hadn't come. They weren’t angry with him, not in that way. Lancelot decided there wasn’t much he could do to protect Merlin’s honor from the grave— after all, he could hardly defend a dead man against their disappointment.

Arthur was locking away his mace, Leon and Percival next to him, sheathing their own swords and mounting it on the armory wall. Gwaine and Elyan were on the other side, changing shirts and stacking armor for the servants to take once they arrived. 

“How many times do you think he used magic right in front of us and we never saw?” Percival asked. 

“Probably hundreds.” Elyan scowled. “Thousands.”

Percival scoffed. “Don’t you think you may be overestimating him a little?”

Elyan slammed the last of his armor on the bench and stalked closer to his fellow knight. “The most powerful. Sorcerer. Of all. Time. Didn’t you hear the girl who ratted him out? He was _powerful,_ Perce. And sneaky enough to keep this from us. Who knows what else he did! What he could’ve— the crimes he could’ve committed, and we never bat an eyelash!”

Lancelot stepped in then. He moved between the two knights’ bodies, one hand to each of their chests, “That’s enough, men.” And it suddenly hit him then, how much he missed Merlin— he would know what to say to them, to make the situation lighter. He always did. His eyes burned. “If you see Merlin as anything other than the kind, loving soul he was, then you’re fools.” He paused for effect, making the effort to look each knight in the eye. Even Arthur. “He was strong, yes. Powerful, _yes._ But he had more heart than he knew what to do with, and that’s what defined him.”

Arthur swallowed audibly, unable to tear his gaze from Lancelot’s. “You knew, didn’t you?” He looked like a ghost.

Lancelot closed his eyes. “Yes.” He couldn’t lie to his prince. Nor did he want to, anymore. 

Arthur took a step towards him. “How long?” he asked, but Lancelot didn’t know how to respond. No form of answer would be the right one. Not when he was like this.

“ _Lancelot,”_ Arthur commanded, and finally he answered him: “Since I came to Camelot.”

The whole room fell into a hush. Not a single one of them dared move even a muscle. Lancelot knew he was to face Arthur’s wrath, and he took a deep breath to brace himself. 

Arthur looked paler than before, if that were even possible. “He told you? All this time, and you never said anything?”

“Sire,” he started, looking for the words. “He didn’t wish for anyone to know. He was my friend, when I came here. The only one I had, and I promised him— he saved my life. From the griffin, actually. Well, sort of, he… it’s a long story.” His voice involuntarily dropped to a whisper. “And he was afraid. He did all he could to help you. He used all of his magic just to save this kingdom, and _you,_ over and over again. But he was so afraid.” Lancelot hung his head. He was ashamed, despite it all. And he never wished to see that raw, cut-open look on his prince’s face ever again.

Gwaine threw his sword down to the ground with force. He punched the wall, gritting his teeth and letting out an animalistic sound. “You all have _got_ to be kidding me. Merlin risks his life for you, every single day, for _years._ And now that he’s _dead_ you don’t even pay him the respect he deserves?” He glared at each one of them, slowly, one-by-one. “Just because you lot were too prejudiced to figure it out. Well, guess what? I didn’t need for Merlin to tell me, or a grand life-saving gesture. For god's sakes, if you all would have paid any attention to him in the first place, if you would have seen him as someone more than his status, you would’ve already known. It was right there, for everyone to see. You all did more of the hiding than Merlin ever did.”

Arthur fully turned away now, bracing one hand on the wall, head dropped to his chest. He looked like he was breathing heavily. Percival and Leon stared at Gwaine in shock, Elyan glaring at him. 

Leon was the first to speak up. “That isn’t fair.” His voice was even, but his face looked ragged. “We loved Merlin like he was one of us.”

“And that’s the difference, then, ain’t it?” Gwaine smiled his same roguish smile, but it was mocking this time, twisted, the slightest bit cruel. “ _Like_ he was one of you. At the end of the day you never considered him an equal.”

“Well, he _wasn’t_ an equal, but—” Percival argued.

“Shut up,” Arthur said, cutting him off. His hand clenched into a fist against the wall. “Shut up.”

***

“Hello again, Prince Arthur.” The girl in the dungeon was small and frail. Her brown hair was matted against her face, and she looked so sad. _Good,_ Arthur thought, in a way that Merlin would be ashamed of.

“Celestina.” He brought her food; nothing much, some bread and cheese. He slid it through the opening in the cell. “At the trial… you said there was a prophecy.”

Celestina wiped the hair out of her face and smiled thinly. “Yes. I was wondering when you’d come down and talk to me.”

True, and maybe a little pitiful— this was the first time he was able to bring himself down to see her. He was afraid if he did he would jump the gun and end up hurting her— he was just so _angry._ And the thing was, he understood her. He knew how cowardice, how fear could corrupt a soul. She was facing her own execution, and she saw a way out. 

He could never forgive her for that.

Celestina studied him carefully, gently breaking off bread like she hadn’t already gone hours without food. “I’m sorry. You’ll never know the guilt I feel—”

Arthur’s hands clenched so hard at his sides his palms bled. “ _Don’t.”_

Her face deflated. Once again, a cruel, vindictive satisfaction swelled in his chest. “Why have you come to see me?” Her voice was small again.

The last time he heard her speak like that, she was before the king, telling them about the threat in the heart of the castle. About Emrys, and Merlin, and the clumsy oaf who called himself Arthur’s manservant. 

Celestina seemed to know what he was remembering, and she shrunk back slightly. “I’m a _druid,_ and he’s _Emrys._ It _killed me_ to—”

Arthur’s eyes _flamed._ “No. It didn’t. It killed _him._ ” 

He closed his eyes to regain composure, and he saw Merlin there, sapphire eyes equal parts playful and fierce. _Calm down, Clotpole,_ he said.

Arthur took another deep breath and opened his eyes in a glare. “Tell me everything you know about Emrys.”


	2. I'll Raise You Like a Phoenix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the light of a new tragedy, Arthur makes a life-changing decision for all parties involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my loves! It's Sunday, so it's time to do God's work and upload another chapter. 
> 
> Only half of this was beta-d so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. 
> 
> Hopefully this isn't as sad as the last installment, but of course i make no promises as I emotionally traumatize myself every other word :) thank u

It’s been several months, now, since it happened.

Life went back to normal, for the most part. The pain was still there, underlying, always, everyone’s constant companion through these endless days. But he’s used to it now, and it didn’t hinder him as it did once before.

It  _ fueled  _ him.

He would become a better prince. A better king. A better royal.

Arthur sat at his desk, tapping a quill against a blank sheet of paper. He was trying to write to Hunith in Ealdor. Only he wasn't sure what to say. Sorry I killed your son? Sorry I need to talk to you because I’m barely functioning without my best friend?

He supposed the original idea had been to apologize. But in the end he found himself drifting back to the hope of forgiveness. And he had no right to ask that. He knew he didn’t. It’s just… he’d never had a mum. He’d never had someone to tell him it was okay to mess up, or to feel sad, or to be cowardly sometimes. He’d never had a mum to love him the way only mothers can, and being in Ealdor the few times he had gone, seeing the way she looked out for her son unconditionally— he yearned for that. For someone to tell him the importance of being human, that it was  _ okay  _ to just be a  _ man.  _ Instead he had only ever known how to be a king. 

_ “One day you will be the greatest king Albion has ever known.” _

Arthur dropped his head to the table. He thought back to his adventures with Merlin, all the bandit ambushes and hunting trips and quests of fate. Looking back at it now… how could he have missed it? How could he have been so ignorant? He must have known. In the back of his mind, he could feel something off, something different. He knew it the very first time he met Merlin. He’d said as much. And those times Merlin confessed to sorcery, and Arthur was so quick to call it a joke— it wasn’t a joke. It was Arthur, being too afraid to ask, to get an answer, to lose his best friend. But he lost him anyway, and he died at first not knowing if he could trust Arthur, and then being certain he couldn’t in those final moments.

_ “If you remember one thing, remember that I was loyal to my prince.”  _

God, even at the end… his greatest supporter. It humbled Arthur as much as it empowered him.

He lifted his head and dipped his quill in ink. 

***

Three months and three letters later, Hunith still hadn’t responded.

Arthur didn't blame her. He wouldn’t respond either. But he was desperate for a word from somewhere that felt like home. From someone that felt like Merlin. 

He’d convinced himself that perhaps she wasn't feeling well. Alright,  _ of course  _ she didn't feel well, but perhaps she developed some kind of illness that rendered her unable to hold a quill. Maybe she didn’t have anything to set a piece of paper on and write— he’d been to that house, it was quite barren. He should've had furniture made for her. Maybe Percival could deliver it. Maybe Guinevere could go with him— Hunith seemed to adore her. 

No—  _ Lancelot  _ and Guinevere. Get them out of the castle and have a check up on Ealdor and Hunith. Brilliant.

The truth was, Gwen and Lancelot were driving him crazy. He was happy they found comfort in each other, and he loved them both like siblings… but did they have to parade their love  _ everywhere? _

Two knocks sounded at the door, and Arthur turned his head to see who it was. Gwaine popped his head in with an  _ up and at em  _ smile. “C’mon Princess, you’ll be late for council.”

Oh, shit.  _ Council.  _

Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes, Gwaine, I’ll be right there.” He stood up hastily, reaching for notes he was supposed to have already looked over. Perhaps he could read it on the way to the throne room.

“Princess, that’s thirteen pages of  _ blah.  _ No way you’ll get that read in time,” Gwaine said cheerily, stepping all the way into his chambers.

“Why thank you, Gwaine. Ever the help.”

“I’m glad you think so, Sire. I didn’t have this prepared for nothing, after all.” Gwaine held out one single sheet of paper.

Arthur eyed it warily. “What is it?”

“A summary on the tax proposition for the season. All the main points are here, the rest can be filled in if you actually listen at the meeting this time.”

“ _ Gwaine.” _

“What?” He grinned. “I’m not the one who was sleeping last time.”

Arthur glared at him but snatched the paper. He looked at Gwaine thoughtfully. After the way they left things in the armory that day, things had been tense ever since… he hadn’t expected this from him. “Thank you,” he said, with as much sincerity as possible. “After what you said—”

Gwaine’s hand flew up like a barrier between them. His voice was strained now. “No need, Princess. I made a promise.”

_ A promise? Like the knights’ code? _

Before Arthur could ask, Gwaine turned out the door, and there was nothing to do but follow.

When he arrived in the throne room, almost everyone was already there. Except Gaius, who entered with the stragglers— this was not uncharacteristic these last few months. Most people seemed to get better with time, but Gaius only got worse. At first he still had some hope in his expression, was in the library doing all this research for god knows what, and then… he seemed to understand something. And he’s been walking around this castle like the living dead since. Who could blame him? Arthur wasn’t the only one who lost someone that day.

Even Uther had been checking up on him. He believed that Gaius hadn’t known about Merlin’s sorcery. Arthur knew better, but… they all knew Gaius hadn’t lost a sorcerer. He’d lost a son. To a king that, despite everything, Gaius had  _ believed  _ in. 

The council meeting started, and Gaius shuffled to the back where he would stay unless he was called upon for medical advice, which was unlikely in a tax meeting. Arthur saw the others among the crowd of council members and advisors; Morgana, out of the corner of his eye, sitting on her throne; Gwen towards the front, melancholy but smiling; the knights off to the side, stoically watching over the room (except for Gwaine, picking on Leon, trying to get him to break form). As he looked on at all of them, vaguely hearing the droning on from Lord Chapman about profits from farm produce, he wondered how you could go on everyday with the guilt of the Great Purge, the fear of being discovered yourself, and not lose everything after losing your faith.

Uther was apologetic these days, seeing Gaius’s deteriorating state. He gifted Gaius anything he might need or desire, as if he were Morgana after a particularly hard pout. Nothing made up for the loss. Merlin’s death touched a kingdom, whether they knew it or not— and the ones within the castle weren’t the only ones who felt the loss keenly. The townspeople missed him, too. Arthur knew that Merlin knew the people of Camelot, perhaps better than the prince himself. He would know what to do today, what the best decision for them would be. 

“Arthur?” Uther drawled. Morgana kicked him elegantly in the shin. 

He startled. “Yes?”

The crowd came alight with whispers, and he heard Gwaine cackling off to the side. Uther let out a long sigh. “Your thoughts on how to compensate the Aimars for their loss during the peasants’ feud? New steeds, perhaps?”

_ The peasants’ feud?  _

And then he remembered, The Aimar family had been having issues with a neighbor over a plot of land and some crops. The neighboring landowner got the land, but that meant he also received the crops the Aimars had planted. 

“No.” Arthur remembered Merlin saying once that Dunstan Aimar had so many children they often went hungry. “They have six children, sire. I’m sure they’d appreciate food on their table more than steeds. After all, food is what was taken from them.”

Uther clapped a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. He seemed to just be glad he was participating. “Very well. I’m sure you’re right, son. Now, back to the request to lower the prices in…”

***

Morgana walked around lower town with Gwen, helping her complete her duties for the day. She enjoyed this bit of mundane time with her, a chance to be a regular girl and just clear her head about thoughts of her growing magic. It was getting harder and harder to control her visions.

And all she saw was Merlin.

It’s all she saw in the lower town, too. They passed by Odel the barber, who said a quick hello to them. Gwen gave him a hug, and then they moved onto the fountain to get water. 

“Are you good friends with Odel?” Morgana asked Gwen as she pumped. 

Gwen looked up brightly, faltering her arm’s movements. She blew a stray curl out of her face. “Oh, yes! Odel and I are great friends. Merlin was good friends with him too, you know.” Her brightness dimmed for a second. She seemed thoughtful, but then she giggled. “You know, there was once… Arthur was yelling this way and that about needing a haircut and how negligent Merlin had become, and Merlin had said, ‘Why should I do it?’ Of course that was Merlin for you.” Gwen smiled and finished pumping the water. Morgana stayed silent, sensing she wasn’t finished.

Gwen picked up the pail. “He was never afraid to put Arthur in his place, was he? Anyway, at the time, Odel’s brother— real troublemaker, he was— was visiting, running him out of house and home with all his tavern debts, and Merlin had heard somewhere in town that he needed the cash. He said, ‘Arthur, Odel needs the extra money. Help your subject out and stop being a clotpole.’” Gwen giggled as she and Morgana walked back up the path to the castle, sloshing the water around in the bucket. “I still don’t know what a clotpole is, but Odel has been Arthur’s barber ever since, and when Odel asked how to repay him, Merlin of course didn’t take any payment. Just friendship.”

Morgana’s eyes burned. She wished she could tell them. But something was happening, something  _ big,  _ and for that Merlin would need to stay dead.

“Morgana,” Gwen whispered. Morgana barely heard her among the shuffling of townspeople, going about their everyday work. The light was gone from Gwen’s face, her head hung just slightly. “Does it feel like the kingdom is in mourning to you?”

“Losing Merlin… it hit Arthur harder than anyone expected. Even him. The people look up to him, Gwen. They can sense the tone he’s setting for Camelot.” Morgana took Gwen’s arm and leaned into her ear, lowering her voice. “And if he isn’t careful, Uther will start noticing, too.”

Gwen nodded. They said hi to a few passing maids going about their own daily chores, and then she turned to Morgana with a bewildered look. “That doesn’t strike you as odd? I mean, I know they were close, and I know everyone loved Merlin. No one loved him more than I did. He was my best friend! I just never knew he was Arthur’s.”

The girls reached the steps to the castle, and Morgana almost laughed. As she looked up at Arthur watching them through his window, she thought,  _ Well, maybe one person loved him more than you. _

***

Uther did notice, eventually. He had pulled Arthur into his chambers later that afternoon to put his foot down.

He informed Arthur that under no uncertain terms was he to be moping about any longer. He would take a new manservant and forget the last one ever existed.

That’s when Arthur realized that Merlin had gotten him too comfortable with letting his mask down. He needed to build it back up, stronger than ever. Because as much as he wanted to… he didn’t know how to get over this. And there would be  _ no  _ replacing Merlin.

***

“Emrys?” Amabel asked, as the whole camp sat around the campfire, and she snuggled up to Merlin's knee. “Do the prince and the warlock ever fall in love?”

Merlin looked upon the little girl’s face, eyes lit with a quiet joy in the glow of the campfire. The other kids scooted closer to hear his answer. He got better at this story-telling thing. 

He considered his response for a long moment. 

“Maybe they already have,” he answered, finally. “In their own way.”

***

Through the grog of Arthur’s sleep, he heard urgent banging on his chamber door. Once, twice…

Oh god. Someone’s banging on his chamber door. Something must be wrong.

He bolted out of bed, stopping long enough to put a tunic on, and answered the door.

It was Leon, looking troubled and out of breath. “What is it?” Arthur asked.

“Sire, it’s the king. There was an intruder, and he—”

Arthur pushed Leon out of the way.  _ Father. Father’s in trouble.  _

***

In the end, it was just another enemy of Uther that did him in. There was a funeral some time afterword, after Arthur had assumed the throne. He had remained stoic through it all, because he had to be. But behind closed doors, he was a mess.

He loved his father. Dearly. But he had been so angry at him, for so long. And while he didn’t know if he’d ever forgive him… what use had it been, the coldness they’d shared since Merlin’s death? What did it change, except the bond between father and son, prince and king? 

Uther had felt pain and suffered, and in turn inflicted pain and suffering. To a lot of people. To a nation. But he had always loved Arthur. Now the fate of Camelot was on his shoulders and his alone, and he had no idea how to go about it. He’d been training all his life to become a king. He had never trained for the event of losing his father. 

For the following weeks, he dealt with the grief as best he could. The only way he knew how. He threw himself into his work and the people, devising laws and policies he had been dreaming up for years as a measly prince. These, he hoped, would not just better the lives of more noblemen, but the commoners too. Every single citizen would have a happy life in Camelot— that was his promise.

Every. Single. Person.

It was time to lift the ban on magic.

***

Morgana stepped back so abruptly she nearly knocked over the entire table. “You’re going to  _ what?”  _

Arthur huffed. “Don’t be afraid, now, Morgana. We’ve had a long time to come around to the idea of magic. If Merlin used his gifts for good, I know there are others out there who would do the same, if only given the chance.

Morgana didn’t know what to say. This felt like a dream. After being in hiding for so long, she wasn’t sure she even knew how to live a normal life. And Merlin…

_ Oh gods. _

She swallowed thickly. She could finally bring Merlin home, and Arthur…

She looked at Arthur, eagerly awaiting her reply. His face was tough as stone, as it always was now, as his heart was quickly turning. This was a tremendous step in the right direction, and she  _ knew  _ Arthur loved his people, but she had to wonder…

Was the ban being lifted because it was the right thing to do, or because he never wanted to relive his suffering again?

“I’m not afraid, Arthur,” she whispered. “I’m just— that’s a big step. Are you sure? You don’t think it’s a little… soon? To be making all these big changes?”

Arthur’s gaze clouded, and she knew exactly what he was thinking of. “I’m more sure than I’ve been about anything in a really long time.”

“Then I think you should do it.” She brushed a dark curl off her shoulder. “When will it be lifted? A few months?”

“I’ll make the announcement to the people at dawn.”

Morgana nearly choked. “At  _ dawn?  _ That’s— how long have you known you wanted to do this?”

But of course. His face was twisted with anger, embarrassment, and hurt. His eyes were cold, his nose scrunched in the fight to contain his emotions. Of course. He had known since he thought Merlin had died on the pyre.

“Well, that’s fantastic, Arthur,” she sniffled, giving him a kiss on both cheeks. “I’m  _ so  _ proud of you.”

Arthur softened just slightly. “Thank you, Morgana.”

She ruffled his golden hair (despite him batting her hands away) and turned to stand in front of her wardrobe. Too bad Gwen and Lancelot had run off somewhere— she needed help packing, and her opinion. Would the deep blue or passionate maroon be best for the upcoming occasion?

“Morgana?” She turned back to face Arthur, who was staring at her in the utmost confusion. “What are you doing?”

“I’m celebrating, dear brother, with some alone time. I need to process this. I think I’m in need of another hunting trip.”

***

Morgana looked around and smiled. Today was a beautiful day. The birds were chirping, the wildflowers were blooming in abundance, and there was a gentle breeze— the perfect day to bring Merlin home, if you asked her. 

As she swayed on her horse, on the path she’d traveled tens of times before this last year and some months, she reflected on the druid camp she’d been visiting. It was always a relief, a much needed vacation, when she could find the time and excuse to get away and spend time with all different kinds of magic users. 

Merlin’s great, don’t get her wrong. She’s infinitely impressed by his abilities, and connected with him as two non-druids who were born with magic. She’s grown from curious affection to loving him as she would her own brother. And she couldn’t wait to tell Merlin and the Seers how much her powers had grown. But she needed to ask them a question.

Why hadn’t she predicted Uther’s assassination?

She was lost deep in thought by the time she heard the bustle of camp. The shield— the one that kept the camp invisible from all non-magic-users— glimmered in the sunlight, and she squinted so as not to be blinded off her horse. As she approached, the children near the barrier gasp and jump around, recognizing her, excited for her to come visit again. 

The children jumped around, hoods of their cloaks falling, curls bouncing around them, and they’re yelling at her to come in already. Morgana dismounted her horse, smiling and waving at the them, and tied him up to a nearby tree. 

The excitement of the kids was getting to her, but she tried to slow her walk to a graceful glide as she approached the glimmering gate. Morgana pressed her hand against it, and it broke at once, easily cutting out the shape of her body as she walked through and closing back up again as she made it to the other side. 

“Lady Morgana!” the kids screamed. Amabel and Alban rsn to hug her legs first, and Edmund and Damiana quite savagely yanked them away to have their own turn. Of course, this caused a yelling match, so Morgana detached herself, brushed off her skirts, and looked to Beatrice standing off to the side. 

Morgana grined and approached the raven-haired girl who reminded her so much of herself. Beatrice looked off to the side like a shy noble and offered her hand. Morgana, now mindless of her skirts, gaves it a kiss. “My Lady Beatrice,” she teased. 

The little girl tried to keep a straight face, but couldn't quite manage it, seeing the king’s ward and Camelot’s (unknowing) Seer kneel before her. 

When Beatrice finally broke and bursted into giggles, Morgana smiled warmly and rose. Then she holds out her hand in return. It’s an exchange they do, ever since she first came to visit. She saw this tough little girl doing all she could to keep up with the boys and avoid their taunting and thought something about it looked awful familiar. And if Beatrice secretly wanted to know how to act like a princess, well Morgana had no power in denying her that.

“It’s good to see you, Bea,” Morgana laughed, ruffling the girl’s short, dark hair. 

Bright eyes narrowed at her as she threw her hand up to stop the assault on her head. “Hey!” Beatrice looked around camp to ensure no one was listening, but lowered her voice anyway. “Princesses don’t mess up other princesses’ hair!”

“Oh yeah? And who said that?”

“I— Well— “

“MORGANA!” a loud voice came from the other side of the location, and she knew who it was instantly.

She smiled and turned away from the girl with a kiss on the cheek, now focusing her attention to the not-so-scrawny-anymore young man making his way towards her. 

Merlin’s hair was shaggy now, overgrown like a devilish woodsman; there was a more manly essence about him, she noticed, with his facial hair growing (that part was groomed, she noticed with a huff). He was muscular now, too, after helping the druids around camp for so long. Although he possessed the ability to move things around with his mind, most druids did not have such effortless power, and she thought it was very sweet and Merlin-like to help out with his bare hands, just like the rest of them. The difference in his physique was jarring after being away for so long.

Morgana walked towards him, feeling the soil give way underneath her heels, and met him part-way. She bowed mockingly, holding his eye as she smirked and bent lower. “Emrys.”

Merlin swatted at her. “You stop that.” Morgana snickered and, rolling his eyes, Merlin pulled her into a hug. “C’mere,” he said.

And— oh, yes. Muscular arms indeed. Not that she was really looking— there were some lines siblings never cross, and Morgana was a smart enough woman to read behind the lines of Arthur Pendragon. But she could still  _ appreciate  _ them.

When they parted from their embrace, Merlin ruffled Morgana’s hair. “What a pleasant surprise, Gana,” he said smugly. 

Morgana managed to look down her nose at him, despite the fact that she was shorter. Smoothing down her hair, she pouted. “You have a funny way of showing it. Especially after the news I have to bring you.”

Merlin’s eyes lit. “News? Come to my tent.”

He turned and led her past a handful of huts and tents, all the while looking in awe at the way every single person stopped what they were doing to greet and bow to him. She knew it happened frequently, but… every person? Of course, to them Merlin— or Emrys, as he’s known here— probably seems like a god to them. But as someone who watched this serving boy pathetically moon over her younger half-brother while falling over his own two feet for four odd years,  _ god  _ wasn’t the first word that came to mind. 

And yet, watching him, Morgana has a sudden yearning to be wherever he’s at. Not in a weird way, but her magic-kin soul is drawn to him, like magnets, drawn to the power of him. Just like the druids, in a less worship-y kind of way. They can’t help it. He’s a man of myth and legend in  _ real time.  _

“Morgana?” Merlin had turned around already, staring at her in concern. They were already at his tent, and he was holding a flap open so she could step through. 

She did, and smiled at him while doing so. “Thank you, Merls.” She looked around: nothing had changed since her last visit, except this time his bed roll was already made up and smoothed out nice, which was odd for him, she thought. He may have kept Arthur’s bed made, but he’d never cared much about his own. Unless he had company.

_ Did Merlin know I was coming? _

Oh, of course. Morgana swore, if the Seers told Merlin the why she was here and  _ spoiled her news  _ she was going to—

“Stop glaring at my bed roll.” Morgana looked at Merlin in surprise. He was laughing softly. “As hard as it may be to believe, the druids did say you were coming. Not sure why they mentioned it, since they never thought to before, but I gathered it may have something to do with your news?”

He looked at her expectantly, and Morgana found herself freezing up. She had been so excited to come here and bring him home, to ease everyone’s suffering and release her own burden. But now that she was here, she wasn’t sure what to say, or what he had already heard. The Seers must have known Uther was going to pass. Wouldn’t they have told Merlin to prepare? Or had their Sight failed them in that event, too?

Eventually, she decided it was best to just rip off the band-aid, so to speak. “Merlin… there’s something I need to tell you. About Camelot.” She saw Merlin’s eyes brighten. “It’s… Uther. He’s gone.”

Morgana was surprised to see how genuinely sad Merlin looked. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For your loss. You must be going through a lot right now. Are you okay? Have a seat.” He gestured to his bed roll. She lowered herself to the ground. Her eyes watered to hear him ask that question. He, who had suffered at his hand, and still did not condemn her for loving or grieving him. 

“I couldn’t See it, Merlin. I don’t know why I couldn’t see it. I was getting visions here and there, of the glint of swords and blood, of crowns and ceremonies but— I didn’t predict this. Why couldn’t I see it?” She put her head in her hands, felt a curtain of dark hair fall around her shoulders. Merlin placed a hand on the small of her back and crouched down next to her.

“Gana…” he started. “I’ve learned a lot from the Seers here. I’ve been observing how Seers wield their gifts, and I can say with almost complete confidence that your magic is, at root, a direct effect of your connection with people. You’re a compassionate woman, Morgana. The problem is, when you start to drift away from people— like Uther, who you’ve felt less connected with as your powers and his hatred grew— you stopped being able to See them.”

Morgana nodded. That made sense. She paused for a moment. “The infiltrator of the castle assassinated him in his sleep before anyone knew what was happening.” There was a long moment when neither of them spoke, but Merlin did his best to comfort her.

“That wasn’t what I came to tell you, though,” she added. Morgana peeked up at Merlin, watching his shaggy hair fall into his eyes. She straightened up and held her chin high. He looked so patient she couldn’t bear to make him wait a moment longer. Not when he’s already been waiting to come home for so long.

“Merlin,” Morgana said, finally. “I did see one vision. It was of a prosperous Albion. And it starts with you. It’s time to come home.”

***

Home?

It’s time to come home?

Merlin didn’t know how to process this. He had hoped, and suspected, but actually hearing it confirmed out loud… 

“Merlin?” Morgana asked, green eyes peering in his face. “Are you going to pass out? Because I’m afraid we really haven’t got time for that.”

Merlin blinked, trying to control his thoughts. “Yes, good. Yes.”

Morgana stood from her seat and grabbed the ratty bag stuffed in the corner of the tent, the one Morgana had brought to him on her first “hunting trip”, filled with his possessions.

And it was full.

Like he said, he suspected why she might be coming today, so he took the time to prepare beforehand. And he was glad he did. He wasn’t sure he was able to fully function.

But Morgana said nothing about this. Only, “Merlin, don’t be ridiculous. This isn’t enough for the journey. You’ve acquired things in your stay here, don’t you want to take them with you?”

Merlin looked over at a mat at the side of the tent, where a pressed flower Amabel had got for him lay. The same place where he kept the new neckerchief one of the younger men had made for him as a token of his affections— who Merlin had to politely turn down, of course, even if he  _ was  _ one of his closest friends here. But he kept the neckerchief anyway.

“Yes, of course I do. But there’s only so much that will fit in that bag.”

Morgana sighed. “Can’t you magic up another one?”

“Oi! What do you think my magic is, then, some endless source?”

“Basically.”

“Well,” he said, “it’s not. I can’t just materialize objects from thin air.”

They both took a moment to ponder this: how could they solve this problem? But someone was already tapping on the flimsy walls of his home.

He peeled back his door. “Euphemia?”

Euphemia, a seamstress here on the site, nodded at the two of them with a smile. She was a quiet woman, who in all honesty had barely said more than a few polite words to him the entire year that he’d been there. To say he was surprised to see her was an understatement.

“Hello, Emrys,” she greeted. She looked over his shoulders at Morgana. “Hello to you, too, my princess.”

Morgana preened. Merlin rolled his eyes. “What are you doing here, Euphemia?”

She grinned and thrust out a large sack. “For your journey. It was Seen days ago, and I’ve been making this for you since. I saw what Princess Morgana brought for you on her first visit and thought you may need a little extra help.”

“Thank you, but I am simply the Lady Morgana,” Morgana corrected, bringing up a hand for the seamstress to shake, but Euphemia kissed it instead. 

“Very well, Lady Morgana,” she conceded, allowing Morgana to draw her hand back. “But you will always be Princess to the Druids.”

Morgana grinned wide again. Merlin would have to stop this before they spent all day feeding her ego. “Well, thank you so much, Euphemia. You have helped greatly. You understand then, that I’ll be leaving camp today.”

She smiled kindly. “Yes, Emrys. Word has spread through camp already. It was an honor serving you.”

“Um…” Merlin shifted uncomfortably. “Thank you…”

Morgana placed a hand on his arm. “The honor was his. We have a long journey ahead of us—”

“Yes,” Euphemia said. “I will let you say your goodbyes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't work on my 30 page final project that's due tomorrow bc i did this instead so please lemme know what u think with kudos and comments!!!
> 
> i'm so tired. i'm going to pass out now. but i hope you enjoyed
> 
> love u muchly,  
> madi


	3. Silver Clouds with Grey Linings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he can go home, Merlin must go to Ealdor to tell his mother he's still alive. There's a surprise waiting for him when he gets there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday! it's time for another update. I'm a little earlier this time, so hopefully this is convenient. 
> 
> as a lovely commenter pointed out, i forgot to mention that all chapter titles (and partly the story title) are from The Phoenix by Fall Out Boy.
> 
> it's that time for final projects, so this isn't beta'd yet. I apologize for any mistakes I've left here. and also my writing. i was struggling.
> 
> please leave comments and kudos to let me know what you think!! hope you enjoy <333 love u muchly
> 
> madi

There was a lot more crying than he’d expected when he told them. 

They gathered in the center of camp, where he told— where he  _ used to  _ tell stories by the fire. Amabel had attached herself to Merlin’s legs somewhere in the middle of his speech of thanking them for all they’d done, and hadn’t let go since. 

He went around (with effort, and a child-induced limp) to each member of the little family he’d built here, enveloped them in hugs and wiped their tears. When Morgana insisted it was time to leave, he had to pull a screaming Amabel off of his legs and deposit her in the arms of her parents, who prayed and bowed to Emrys. She had tears in her eyes. Her hair was tangled. Her little chin wobbled.

It was the second hardest thing he’d ever had to do.

***

The first thing Merlin requested as they were mounting the horse (Morgana could only bring one for fear of seeming conspicuous) was to visit Ealdor. At first Morgana had resisted: if they stayed away for too long, she wouldn’t be back by her usual time, and then Arthur would surely send out the knights. But Merlin insisted; his mother should be the first to know. Merlin was the only family she had left.

Morgana found she couldn’t argue with that.

On the road to Ealdor, he tried to put his mother out of his mind, as he had been doing consistently these past long months. He thought about her, of course, every day— but dwelling in this grief, thinking about how she may or may not be handling it— he wouldn’t be able to go on the way he needed to. Today he tried to channel that same perseverance. He would be there soon enough. Worrying about it would do nothing but give him stomach pains.

Besides, it was easy to put Hunith out of his mind, for now. The druids were taking up that space. He hadn’t expected his departure to be as hard as it was. He hadn’t expected to become part of the family— an honorary druid, as Healer Baldwin liked to say. He would miss all of them dearly. Especially the children. 

This journey was a long one to ride in silence, but (despite how he cherished it) his time in the druid camp made him more used to it than he’d ever been— he loved all the druids dearly, but it could be a lonely place when the kids weren’t around. 

Sometimes, he felt like they were the only ones truly listening.

After several hours of traveling, they finally arrived in Ealdor. Merlin was exhausted and nervous. He wasn’t sure what to do now that he was here, amongst the familiar farm-life and villagers. Merlin gasped.  _ The villagers!  _ “Morgana,” he said, leaning forward to speak quietly in her ear (and hide behind her petite form), “if they see me, they’ll start yelling.”

“Alright, Merlin,” Morgana breathed, looking at the people crossing between homes and forests, holding bags of grain and logs of wood. “Let’s do this.”

Morgana guided them to the back of the village, where they wouldn’t be seen right away, and dismounted. They didn’t want to make such a grand entrance, and Merlin knew from nearly 20 years of living in Ealdor that the quickest way to get noticed in a small town was to walk right in the center of it, so they snuck along the backs and sides of the buildings.

Until they made it to his mother’s house.  _ How could I keep this from Mum? What am I going to say? After all that my father put us through… and now I’ve done the same thing…  _ Oh, gods, he was spiraling. Morgana sent him a questioning glance.

And then they heard…

Was that  _ laughter _ ?

Well… he wasn’t going to say he wasn’t glad to be hearing the sound come from her, but his pride was the tiniest bit wounded. Just the tiniest bit. I mean, he  _ was  _ her only son, but he appreciated how strong and resilient his mother was. She could get through anything, and this was proof of that.

He shared a brief glance with Morgana, crouched under the window of Hunith’s house, and… he loved her to death in that moment. She looked at him like she was thinking the same thing, like she didn’t know if she was supposed to be offended or happy. They were so in sync, lately, growing as close as siblings this past year. And he was so grateful for her support during this time.

Morgana took his hand, and they took a deep breath together.

Merlin straightened up, walked around the front, and knocked.

Morgana gasped and shoved him behind her. “Are you a complete idiot?  _ Her dead son can’t just show up on her doorstep, Merlin!”  _ She whispered furiously.

...Oh. Right. “I—” 

“ _ Get!”  _ She gave him another hasty push behind the side of side of the house, so he was crouched underneath the window— thank god he was a beanpole— and Morgana barely managed to smooth down her black ringlets before Hunith opened the door.

His mother stood there, smile lingering from the laughter, hair in a green headwrap with dark brown curls falling down— she looked beautiful, and just as he remembered from the last time he’d seen her. He’d missed her so.

Her smile didn’t disappear, per se, but the shock in her eyes, taking in Morgana on her doorstep in her fancy dress, overpowered it. “Oh. Lady Morgana! What are you doing here?” 

Morgana smiles sweetly. “Hunith! It’s so good to see you! I just thought it was time I came to give you some company. Is now a bad time?”

_ Is now a bad time to tell you that your son is actually alive?  _ Merlin thought ironically.  _ Really, Morgana.  _ He scoffed in his mind. And then he shrunk further down, because Morgana sent a quick glare his way, and he realized he’d actually communicated that to her. Oops. 

_ My back is aching,  _ he thought at her.  _ Hurry up.  _ Morgana’s mouth tipped up at the side.

“Now isn’t a bad time at all, My Lady. Please, come in! I have some other visitors, actually. I think you may know them?” Hunith smiled teasingly at Morgana and swung the door open wide.  _ Hope you can stay that way a little longer,  _ Morgana said to him, as she followed his mother inside her house. 

Merlin watched from the window, being careful to only lift his head enough to see what he needed to. In the doorway, the two women hugged each other for a long moment, as much love between them as the day they met, when Morgana had shown up to fight for Ealdor against Kanen’s men.

Whatever they said next was lost to the neighbor’s screaming pigs, but he moved on to the next window to scope out the “friends.” His eyes caught the sight of chainmail and perfect chocolate curls… and then he was crying. Because it was Gwen. And Lancelot. His best friend and the first person besides his mother, Will, and Gaius to accept him for who he was. And now they, along with his mother, would be the first people to see him back. 

The two of them were sitting there at the table, in his mum’s kitchen, completely relaxed. Gwen was wearing a sweet yellow dress that reminded Merlin of springtime and all things Guinevere, and Lancelot had one arm draped around her.  _ Um…  _ Merlin thought, watching the way the pair gazed lovingly at each other,  _ when did that happen? _

Not that he wasn’t happy for them. He definitely was. He couldn’t think of any two people more suited to each other. 

_ Are you ready?  _ Merlin heard Morgana’s voice echoing in his brain.

_ Ready as I’ll ever be,  _ Merlin responded.

Suddenly Morgana came into his line of sight, with Hunith trailing behind her, as they walked into the kitchen. Immediately Gwen’s face lit up. It was obvious how over-the-moon she was to see her here, even if she was a little confused. Lance smiled sweetly, removing his arm so Gwen can give Morgana a hug. Fortunately the walls were very thin, and he had no problem hearing Gwen squeak out, “What are you doing here? Did you have the thought to visit Hunith too? Morgana, you’re so sweet!”

Lancelot stood up from his own seat and gave a polite nod to her. “Arthur arranged for us to come out here, but I would’ve thought he’d send you.”

Morgana smiled patiently. “I think he thought you two could do with some alone time together.”

Gwen flushed a bright red and playfully slapped Morgana’s sleeve.  _ Some alone time at my  _ mother’s _? What has this kingdom come to— that’s disgusting—  _

_ Merlin,  _ Morgana thought at him in warning.

“Well, why don’t you all have a seat?” Hunith suggested, waving her hands towards the bench of the kitchen table. “Please, please, everyone rest. Is anyone hungry?” As his mother spoke, Merlin recognized her voice tinged with depression that was so different than her usual optimistic demeanor it made his eyes tear up. He was suddenly so glad for his friends, who checked up on her, and especially Arthur, who apparently gave them orders to.

“Guinevere and Lancelot just got here,” his mother continued, opening up the cupboards to search for something to serve to her guests. “They were filling me in about Camelot. They were about to tell me something pretty important, as I recall. Do we care to share now?”

Hunith’s back was to the group, but they all shared a look in silence. “Well,” Gwen started nervously. Merlin could see her struggle with how to get the news out the right way. Lancelot laid a hand on hers and smiled slightly. “Arthur has passed a new law. About magic.”

Hunith freezes instantly, dropping the piece of rye bread she was preparing to cut up for them. It bounced once on the counter. Gwen glanced worriedly at Lance, who was quick to finish his statement. “It’s good,” he said. “He’s lifting the ban.”

Hunith turned around, then, one hand lifted to her mouth. There were tears in her eyes. “Merlin— Merlin always believed he would do it. That he would bring magic back to the land.” Everyone in the room seemed to deflate. Hunith sniffled. “He never once doubted that Arthur would be a great king, and finally he’s achieved what we’d always hoped.”

“If only he lived to see it,” Gwen murmured, pulling herself out of her seat and walking over to his mother. She hugged her. 

“Well…” Morgana started, and Merlin thought,  _ No, Gana, not now! She’s already crying!  _ “I have something to tell you, Hunith. Please, take a seat. You, too, Gwen. You’ll want to sit down for this.”

“Morgana?” Lancelot asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes! Great, actually. I— it’s just— well, now that the ban on magic is lifted, we can finally tell you guys…”

“We?” Gwen asked, head tilting to the side. 

“Yes, we.” Morgana flipped her hair from one shoulder to the other in a nervous tick. “Oh, Merlin, just come in here, won’t you?”

Merlin could hardly recover in enough time from his shock. After the grief she gave him,  _ that  _ was how she chose to reintroduce him into the land of the living? Nevertheless, it was now or never. He was ready to see his mum. He was ready to come home. 

Merlin stood up straight, and just as he heard Gwen start to reprimand her for such a “cruel joke”, he walked through the front door. The house got silent when the door audibly closed behind him. As he walked through the tiny front room and came to stand in the kitchen, he made a brief note of all the nice, new furniture.

As soon as he came into view, there was a shriek and a gasp, although he’s not sure from who. He had no idea which face to look at, so in the end his eyes just bounced between all three. Shocked and horrified and disbelieving. 

Gwen froze in shock in her seat. Lancelot also took a moment to process, just staring at him, but he was the first one to break. He pulled Merlin in for a huge bear-hug. “You tricky bastard, Merlin. You tricky bastard,” he said, over and over, clinging to Merlin with his face in his hair, and Merlin heaved a little sob and wrapped his arms back around Lancelot, ignoring the scrape of metal against his skin.

Finally Gwen pushed Lancelot off and attached herself to Merlin, in absolute wrecked tears, snot all over his tunic, lightly pounding her fists against his chest. “Damn you, Merlin,” she sobbed, clinging onto his collar for dear life. “ _ Damn  _ you.” Her voice was breaking.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I never wanted to leave all of you. Never.” He closed his eyes for a moment and pet Gwen’s hair until Lancelot had finally gained back enough sense after the shock to pull her off of him and into his own arms.

When he opened his eyes, they met immediately with his mother’s. She was still staring, pale, blank-faced and wild-eyed. During his interaction with Gwen and Lance he realized now that Morgana had been standing back near his mother, rubbing her shoulders, trying to calm her as much as she could. It worked, for a minute. Hunith closed her eyes, took a deep breath, counted to ten. When she opened her eyes again, she lunged for Merlin.

Merlin couldn’t breathe with the way Hunith was on top of him, muttering over and over, “I knew you weren’t dead. I knew you couldn’t be dead. I would’ve felt it. My son,  _ my son. _ ”

The tears no longer rested in his eyes, ready to fall, but were freely falling, and he sobbed so hard in his mother’s arms he almost gagged. In a few hours, it would be embarrassing, but right now he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He smelled the familiar scent of his mother’s hair mixture: cloves and vetch; the sweetness and spice of it calmed him down as much as he could calm down, and he found himself taking several deep breaths just to keep from losing it again.

“My son, my sweet boy,” Hunith repeated. “My sweet boy. Where have you been? Where have you  _ been?”  _

“It’s a long story,” Morgana said. She took a seat at the table and gestured for everyone to do the same. Hunith glanced uneasily at Merlin, like she wasn’t certain she could stop touching him so soon. Merlin grabbed her hand, squeezed it gently but fiercely, and led her to the table. They sat down together, his mother on his left side, Morgana on his right. Across from them, Lancelot leaned all the way forward, as close as he could get to his friend with a table separating them, and Gwen reached forward to clutch onto the hand that wasn’t already in his mother’s.  _ I think Gwen’s going to squeeze the life out of my hand,  _ he thought at Morgana. He thought he could hear an answering chuckle echoing faintly in his brain.

“Tell us  _ everything,” _ Gwen begged.

***

After Merlin finished telling them everything they’d missed about his life for the last year or so, a silence ensued. He knew he had to give everyone time to process everything, but he found himself itching to get up and pace, like he was Arthur after a bad meeting with the council.

Arthur. How he guiltily wished he could skip this part and fly straight to Camelot. Well, maybe not fly. He’d have to call Kilgharrah for that, and announcing he was alive while he rode in on a dragon was maybe too much of a dramatic entrance.

“So, let’s recap, for my sanity,” Lancelot started. “You thought you were going to die? If that priestess hadn’t come to tell you to get down you would’ve just let yourself burn up there?”

Hunith looked at Merlin reproachfully, as if to say,  _ you foolish boy, you shouldn’t have let them get you up there in the first place.  _ Merlin nodded sheepishly at Lance’s question. “I didn’t exactly have the resources in Camelot to know what I was capable of. For all I knew, I was stuck up there. I really thought I was burning until I realized I wasn’t feeling any pain.”

“I didn’t see any sort of sorceress,” Gwen stated skeptically.

Morgana tapped her fingernails impatiently on the wooden table, looking out the windows, then nonchalantly said, “He can stop time.”

“You can—”

Hunith cut Gwen off. “Guinevere, darling, I know this will all come as a shock—”

Gwen shook her head to clear it. “I had no idea you were so powerful, Merlin.”

“Well.” Merlin smiled sheepishly. “I don’t know about  _ powerful _ , I just--:”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Morgana said, tiredly. “The druids didn’t worship you for nothing.”

_ Did they seriously need to know about that?  _ He thought to Morgana. She met his glare with a smirk.

“How were the druids?” Hunith asked. There was a touch of desperation to her voice. “Did they treat you right?”

Morgana laughed. “Oh, they treated him better than  _ right,  _ they—”

“Gana!”

She held up her hands. “Okay, okay.”

Lance sent them both puzzled looks. “Why are you so uncomfortable about your new status? Didn’t you want to be recognized?”

Merlin shook his head. “No— I mean, yes, but— no. Not in— I guess it’s just weird. I’m still Merlin. I’ve always been just Merlin.”

Gwen gave his hand another death-grip squeeze. He fought back the urge to wince. “Oh, Merlin. All this time. Why did you never say anything?”

Merlin gave her a strange look, but kept his voice light and teasing. “I mean, did you miss the part of the story where I was legally dead?”

Gwen choked out a watery chuckle. “I mean, why did you never tell  _ me? _ ”

Merlin shrank back. This was the part he hated. He’d have to give an explanation to each individual person on why he never told him about his escape, or his magic, or both. And he just didn’t have the answers. Not any good ones, anyway. Not the ones they wanted. “Ah, I don’t know, Gwen. I mean, you have to understand the position I was in… how could I be sure you wouldn’t treat me any differently? I wanted to trust you. I  _ do  _ trust you. But even then, I was already in enough danger with Gaius and Lance knowing about me. I couldn’t risk anyone else knowing under Uther’s rule.” He paused and made himself look at Gwen’s hurt face. “I’m sorry, Gwen. I truly am. I always wanted you to know.”

“You know, when news first spread of your magic, I thought,  _ Merlin? A sorcerer? _ But not because I didn’t think you were capable of it. In fact, it made perfect sense to me. Except I said, ‘No, that’s impossible. He would’ve told me.’”

Lancelot put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Gwen, you know that’s not fair.”

“I know!” She seemed outraged now, pushing lightly at Lance’s chest when he tried to tug her in for a hug. “Don’t you think I know? I can’t help it. It’s easy for you to say. You knew all along. I’m not mad at you for this, Merlin. When I realized all you must have done to protect Arthur— all those jokes about being the real asset to the team were never really jokes, were they? — I was pleased, Merlin. I just don’t know what kind of friend I’d been that you wouldn’t have been certain of that.” She sniffled again and looked up at the ceiling, trying to keep her tears at bay.

Merlin’s eyes burned, too. He squeezed her hand, this time. “It wasn’t about that Gwen. You have to believe that. I was just scared. And not just for me. If you’d known… that would’ve been a terrible burden to put on you. I wasn’t going to risk your execution, too.”

“This is all my fault,” Hunith whispered. “I should’ve just risked you staying in Ealdor. I thought, if anything, Arthur would have protected you, if Gaius failed—”

Merlin was about to reassure her that it was absolutely  _ not  _ her fault when Morgana interjected. Her voice was quiet. “Arthur was in Uther’s chambers until the very last minute trying to get him to stay the order. He only gave up when he saw the hay start to burn, and then he— if Leon wasn’t there—”

“Arthur would’ve been in the flames with him,” Lancelot finished solemnly. 

_ Arthur would’ve been in the flames with him.  _ Oh, god, no. He remembered the way Arthur had already been to close, straining against Leon’s arms, and what he thought (maybe hoped) was happening then was confirmed: the Crown Prince of Camelot would’ve walked into the fire to get him down from there. 

Oh, Merlin loved him.

Merlin needed to get home to him.

Hunith took a shaky breath, then turned her full attention towards Merlin. “I know you, Merlin, and I know you’re still going to go back to Camelot. But I’m coming with you.”

“ _ What?  _ Mum—”

“No, Merlin.” Hunith hushed him quickly and fiercely, so fiercely that everyone immediately stilled. “I’ve made my decision. You and Arthur still need each other, and I know he’s going to make a great king. But you almost  _ died.  _ My only son. I’m coming with you, and that’s final.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered. Merlin resisted the urge to tell her that even if he was going to die again, she wouldn’t be able to stop it, and he could probably escape anyway. He’d missed his mum anyway. He was glad to have her along with him. 

“I hate to rush this,” Morgana said, not sounding sorry at all, still tapping her fingers impatiently, “but now that we’ve decided you’re coming with us, Hunith, we need to pack  _ now.  _ It’s a long ride back to Camelot, and if we delay the journey any longer, Arthur will send his men to come find me. He may even come himself. Arthur doesn’t react well to things. The last thing we need is for word to spread this way.”

Hunith nodded and got up at once to start packing. Merlin left the room to help her, even though she lived a humble life in this countryside and probably didn’t have much to take, anyway. The sooner they could get going the better.

***

On the way back to Camelot, Gwen insisted on hearing about his time with the druids. It kind of ruined his plan of not missing them too much, but he couldn’t bear to deny Gwen anything more, so he told her nearly everything. He found it was easy once he actually got to talking about them. He started with when he first arrived, how sad and anxious and overwhelmed he was, and they way they welcomed him with open arms without even batting an eye.

“I’m pretty sure one of the Seers had prepared the camp for me already. There was an extra hut and everything.”

“I bet it was Seer Florian. He’s so precise with his Sight. He probably told them the exact hour you were coming.” Morgana scoffed. She was as jealous as she was in awe of Florian’s powers. “Once, during one of our sessions together, he kept answering each question I had before I’d even gotten the words out of my mouth.”

Merlin laughed. That was Florian for you. Gwen sent them a questioning glance, to which Merlin said, “Yeah, Seer Florian is a great man, but he could be a bit of a prat sometimes.”

Gwen still had that questioning look on her face. “Sessions?”

“Merlin,” Morgana continued hastily, “did you say they gave you a hut? You never had a hut. I had to squeeze into that shabby tent of yours.”

Merlin studied Morgana— something wasn’t right about the way she was ignoring Gwen. He saw the panicked look on her face, and then he realized— Morgana had never told Gwen about her magic. 

_ Oh, gods.  _ “Y-yes, well,” he stuttered, trying to continue the conversation for his friend’s sake. He knew how scary it could be to confess something this huge, even when you knew the outcome would be alright. Sometimes the chance wasn’t worth it. And they’d all had enough heavy emotions for one day. “They built one for me, but I told them to give it to Gavin and Genevieve. They had four kids and their tent was so tiny, they were practically sleeping on top of each other. Not to mention how unsafe it is for young children to be exposed to bad weather in those thin things—”

Merlin stopped when he heard everyone laughing. “What?” he asked.

Lance looked over at him fondly and gave him a nod. “Same old Merlin. Stupidly generous. Most people would’ve took the hut.”

Merlin grimaced, listening to the clopping of the horses. “You should’ve seen their faces when I asked for the tent. Gavin and the kids were over the moon, of course; especially Beatrice— immediately walked in like she owned the place— but Genevieve nearly went into shock, I think. She just kept offering to make Euphemia sew up the holes.”

They all laughed again. Morgana said, “I miss Little Bea. I didn’t know she had siblings.”

“I think that’s because she’s making plans on being an only child sometime soon.”

Morgana slapped his back. “Oh, stop that,” she said, but there was no heat in it. 

Gwen’s frown started forming when they first left Ealdor, but now it was deep, making lines in her face. When she spoke, it was harsher than normal. “Who’s Euphemia?”

Merlin smiled brightly at her in an attempt to get her to lighten up. What was she upset about, anyway? Was it still about the hiding? “She’s the seamstress. She’s absolutely brilliant— she weaves protections and other spells into the fabric, for whatever you need it for. She even made me my clothes for free.”

Hunith smiled sweetly at Merlin, her body swaying from the movement of her horse. “I’m glad you had people who took care of you, my love.”

“Yes,” Gwen said, even as she stayed frowning. “Me, too.”

“Are you okay, Guinevere?” Lancelot asked. He might as well have written a label on his forehead that said Concerned and In Love by the way he was looking at her. 

It was as sweet as it was nauseating.

“Yes, I’m—”

_ Do you hear that?  _ Morgana thought.

“Shhh,” Merlin hushed, raising a hand out. Everyone fell silent. He heard the crunch of acorns and leaves, the give of soil, and felt his eyes flash gold. He reached out with his magic, making it cover a radius of several yards, until he felt something. Whatever or whoever it was wasn’t a magic user, so they were probably bandits. A small party, he’d guess.

He broke the spell and opened his mouth to tell them as much, and that they should get out of here as quickly as possible, but before he could get out any words past  _ bandits,  _ several men came down from the elevated ground, flooding into the forest valley. It was less than he’d thought.

Lancelot drew his sword and hopped down from his horse. “Gwen, get behind me!” 

Gwen got down from her own horse and, because she carried no weapon, allowed herself to be guided behind his armor. Merlin shared a look with Morgana, who gave him a nod. There was no other option; only Lancelot had brought a real weapon, so they would need to use magic to fight. 

“MERLIN!” Hunith shrieked, and Merlin whipped around to find an extra man with a long, matted beard had snuck up from behind and grabbed her, pulling her against his front with her hair. The man pressed a sword to her neck. 

“Don’t you  _ dare hurt her!”  _ Merlin yelled, suddenly feeling very vicious. If they didn’t leave her unharmed,  _ now,  _ things were going to get very ugly very fast.

“We won’t,” another man said, and Morgana and Merlin whipped back around to see Gwen, thrashing with a dirty hand over her mouth, trying to yell through the muffling. She used her feet to kick at the man’s knees, but it was no use. He was too strong for her. “Not if you give us what we want.”

Lance was in front of her, brow furrowed, fighting off two armed men, but he managed to grit out, “ _ What do you want?”  _

Beard and Dirty chuckled, both of them painfully tightening their hold on the women. “Money,” Dirty stated. “We saw the crest on your cloak. Pendragon red, too. You’re a knight of Camelot, aren’t you?”

And— this is why there seemed to be less of them— three more bandits came surging down from the bushes above, sliding into Morgana’s space, trying to capture her as well, but Morgana was ready this time. She grunted out a spell Merlin had taught her a long time ago, when he’d first heard she was traveling alone to see him, and the three men all flew backward. Everyone but Merlin and Lance stared dumbfounded at her, and Merlin used this distraction to focus on his magic for a few seconds— he couldn’t let go of it, for some reason, not used to so many people being aware— and then he remembered that he simply had to  _ let go and trust.  _ Just as the druids taught him. Just as Finna had instructed.

_ You don’t need to hide anymore,  _ he told himself.  _ No subtleties. Let. Go. _

The reprieve was suddenly gone, as the bandits picked themselves up off the floor. His mother screamed as Beard put a fist in her hair again and twisted, as if it were a warning:  _ Give us what you have, soon, or else. _

Merlin let go.

Immediately, before he even knew what was happening, the skies darkened overhead. The one man before Lance that hadn’t been slain was on his last leg and, in the newfound darkness, took several steps back from him and started running. Merlin knew his eyes were a deep, shimmering gold. There was no denying that he’d done this.

Morgana, taking advantage of her enemies’ astonishment, sent bursts of her own magic that took them out, efficiently, one by one. Lighting cracks, and thunder, and he wasn’t sure where the sun had gone, but he couldn’t worry about that right now.

He couldn’t see now in the darkness he’d created, but as if on cue Morgana cast a spell for a ray of light to shine, as if she were holding a torch on each person.  _ Excellent,  _ he told her. 

Merlin put one hand in Gwen’s direction and one in Hunith’s and made a fist, making the rage he felt inside translate into something tangible, and soon their captors were jerking their hands back and clutching them to their chests.

_ Did you just burn them? Without a spell?  _ Morgana asked, but he ignored her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Morgana and Lance gather Gwen and Hunith, forming a protective huddle. 

Merlin raised his hand, flinging Beard and Dirty in the air. They shrieked and twisted, trying to get down, trying to do  _ something _ . It was no use. They had dropped their weapons and were no match for the hold Merlin had on them now. 

“You will never _ ,”  _ Merlin growled, “ _ never  _ lay a hand on Guinevere or my mother ever again, do you hear me?”

Dirty whimpered in the air, going impossibly still. Merlin turned to the other one, who’d grabbed his mother. Who  _ hurt  _ his mother.

He narrowed his eyes at the man, but stopped to listen as he pleaded, “Wait! Wait!”

Merlin said nothing. He just waited. Hunith and Gwen were safe now, and so was Lance and Gana… he could allow him this.

“I’m sorry,” Beard continued. “I didn’t know she was— look, I have kids. They’re just young ones, yeah? They’re starvin’. No ones giving me work. I saw the Pendragon crest and—”

He grunted in surprise as Merlin lowered and then dropped him to the ground, face-first. He looked over in incredulity, like he wasn’t able to believe he survived this easily. Merlin kept him there with his magic, but turned away. He looked at Dirty, this time. “What’s your excuse?” he asked.

“I’m his brother,” the man whimpered. “I was just trying to help them, I—” But before he could finish, Merlin dropped him to the ground, too. 

He thought about the money he’d packed for this journey, in case they needed to stop anywhere— they were the coins he’d saved from his wages at Camelot, that he’d never had to spend because the druids provided for him more than enough. He came to a decision.

He didn’t want to take his eyes off of them, so he opened on hand and wished for the bag to fall into it. Sure enough, within seconds the bag flew out of the satchel tied to Lancelot’s horse and landed in his palm. It was heavy, four years of royal coin— and Arthur had always paid him better than other servants. What’s more, when they were together (which was always) the tab was always on Arthur anyway.

He stepped towards the brothers and crouched to wear Beard was lying, petrified and awed in the mud, and dropped the bag on his stomach. He let out an “oof”.

“For your children,” Merlin told him.

Bewildered, both of the brothers began to thank him, but cut them off. “But if I find out you ever pull something like this again,” Merlin threatened, leaning close, “you’ll not only have me, but the kingdom of Camelot to answer to.” 

This was a bluff, of course. He had no power over the kingdom.

But Beard and Dirty didn’t have to know that.

They nodded frantically, scrambling up and away from the group, leaving the other men behind where they lie unconscious. Morgana raised an eyebrow, but Merlin shook his head. Even without her voice in his head, he knew what she was going to say. But Merlin would leave them be. 

He turned to the others to suggest they get back on the road— he would like to rest in an actual bed, thank you very much. Except everyone but Morgana and Hunith was staring at him in shock. “Um… what?”

Lance snickered and clapped him on the back. “I would call you a show-off, Merls, but the incredible part is I know you weren’t.” He shook his head and smiled to himself. “I knew you were powerful, mate, but  _ bloody hell.  _ You didn’t even use any spells. _ ” _

Hunith was shaken but strong as she leaned against a tree, catching her breath. “We can process everything on the way there,” she suggested. “We should get out of harm’s way first.” She crossed the distance to Merlin and gave him a warm hug. “I’m proud of you,” she whispered.

Merlin grinned. “Thank you, Mum.”

They all gravitated towards their somewhat-spooked horses. Gwen moved like she was on another plane of existence, not fully aware of anything anymore. Merlin figured she was still shaken from being a hostage for a couple of nasty bandits. They mounted their horses after taking a few minutes to calm them down, and after about ten minutes of riding in silence, Gwen finally broke it. “Morgana,” she said, quietly, too quietly, and un-Gwen like. Her voice cracked in the middle. “You have  _ magic?”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know. it's coming. i promise. :)


	4. Vintage Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin finally returns to Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am literally barely coherent at this point, so i'm really nervous to post such an important chapter. i know me and everyone else was really looking forward to this one. i hope it doesn't disappoint. <3

Oh shit. Oh  _ shit. _

_ “You have  _ magic _?” _

Well… oops. They had forgotten about that part. Merlin and Morgana both froze, processing what was happening and not knowing how to move forward. Merlin’s heart reached out to Morgana because… yeah. He’d been there. He was still there. And this was her first time being discovered by someone who wasn’t of magic. It was a big moment. 

Despite Gwen’s apparent tolerance, it could change everything.

When Morgana was finally able to speak, she sounded in pain and a little frantic. “Gwen—”

But Gwen wouldn’t hear it. She shook her head violently, cheeks coloring in anger and curls bouncing, damp against her forehead. “ _ Don’t,”  _ she bit, unforgiving and disappointed.

Morgana’s face fell. No one around them breathed, fearing, somehow, whatever they did would make it worse. Gwen didn’t often lose her temper. When she did, the results weren’t usually all that pleasant. Merlin’s heart ached. For both of them. He knew how it felt to be in Morgana’s position, forced to keep a secret and wishing she wasn’t. But he also knew what it was like to be the one being lied to (via Gaius, Hunith, and/or a certain overgrown lizard) and not particularly caring why. There was no right side. Everything was just hard.

Gwen snapped the reins of her horse and rode on ahead, fast, far on in the path and away from everyone else. Out of instinct, Merlin prepared to follow her, but Lancelot stopped him by saddling up to put a hand on his shoulder. He squeezed. “Let me,” he said, in his usual gentle way, and rode off after her.

Merlin, Morgana, and Hunith watch him go. Hunith had been trotting along, observing in silence, but she spoke up now in that quiet cadence she had. “Give her time,” she soothed. “She’s just got a bit of a shock, is all.” She sounded like she was still in a bit of a shock herself.

During this whole argument, all he’d been thinking about was Arthur. If the ever-tolerant, unconditionally loving Gwen could have this reaction, how would the now-king act, after a year of separation (and maybe animosity?) between them, without Merlin and only his temper to guide him?

He realized that was selfish. Especially now. “Are you okay, Mum? You know I always wanted to—” 

Hunith reached a hand out to stop him, rested it on his shoulder. It jostled as they shifted with their horses, but Hunith still let out a harsh, shaky breath, as if it steadied her. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I know, Darling. But I missed my boy.”

Merlin didn’t know what to say to that, so, heart breaking in two, he placed a hand over hers, and they rode the rest of the way home in silence.

***

Gwen seemed to come to terms with things by the time they arrived in Camelot.

Things were still a little rocky, of course. Gwen nodded at Morgana when she rejoined the group with Lance in tow, but she still kept ahead of everyone else, like she wanted them to know that her peace was reluctant. 

Throughout the ride, Morgana kept trying to prod Lance for details but he refused to budge. Merlin and Hunith had both tried to rein her in, but gods bless the soul who tried to hold Morgana back from anything. Eventually, after the eleventh inquiry, Lance leaned over and whispered, “I know this sucks, Morgana, but you’re not a child anymore. Your actions affect people, regardless of its necessity. As a true Lady of the realm, you must accept that, yes? It is the right thing to do.”

Morgana looked like she wanted to pout further, but all she did was nod and say, “ _ Merlin  _ has magic. She’s not mad at  _ him. _ ”

“ _ Merlin  _ was dead,” Lancelot said. “What about you?”

That shut her up for the rest of the ride home. Merlin told corny jokes in her head until she cracked a smile, but she was still devastated. He could see right through her.

Now, crossing Camelot’s borders, Gwen was riding with the group again. She had even given Morgana a tiny, nearly imperceptible smile a mile or so back. They would be all right. Merlin was confident.

About himself, he wasn’t so sure.

Camelot  _ changed.  _

From the outside, he supposed, it’s the same as it had always been. The townspeople bustled about their kingdom, selling bread and flowers and armour. But there was a different energy, like a veil had been lifted. It must have been the effect of the lifting of the magic ban.

That wasn’t to say that people were casting enchantments in the streets or anything, but the constant hum of fear underlying Camelot had ceased. Now the only buzz was of laughter, of honor and chivalry and  _ goodness  _ that’s so unbelievably and undeniably  _ Arthur  _ that Merlin felt tears pool in his eyes.

He blinked up at the sky to keep them at bay.

Gwen started to ask him if he was okay, but he nodded quickly and started towards the castle. It wouldn’t do to dwell. And Guinevere’s kindness would only make him break down.

The townspeople didn’t recognize him, per se. It had been a year, and everyone thought that they saw him burn. They all heard the whispers, though, as they walk along the pale brick. Whispers that perhaps Merlin had a brother no one had seen; perhaps he had a doppelganger; the resemblence was uncanny, but not at all the same person— it couldn’t be.

When Merlin arrived at the steps of the castle, he paused. What was he supposed to do? He looked up at the great big thing, cream-colored towers standing tall, Pendragon flags waving in the wind. How could he go in there and face Arthur, after all this time? Everything he’d done he’d done for Arthur, and yet now all he could see was the betrayal Arthur would be seeing. He  _ lied  _ to him. About…

Well, more than one thing.

“Merlin?” Gwen asked, kind brown eyes studying his face. “What’s wrong?”

“What if he can’t forgive me?” he asked quietly.

The question hung in the air for a moment, heavy, as the five of them stared up at the castle. It was Morgana who answered him.

“You won’t know if you stay out here.”

Merlin nodded. Perhaps it wasn’t the reassurance he was looking for, but it was the truth. If he turned back now, he knew he’d spend the rest of his life regretting it. 

Lancelot chuckled a little and flung an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Just think, Merlin, now you can  _ tell  _ your king all that you’ve done to serve him. Get that recognition you always deserved.” Lancelot must have seen the look on his face, because his face broke into the widest grin. “Never mind. I nearly forgot who I was speaking to.”

Merlin laughed with all of them, genuinely, finally thinking maybe he was ready to start up the steps to Camelot. He took a step, and—

“Lancelot!” 

Sir Brennis, a young man who had just been knighted the month before Merlin’s execution, came jogging towards them with a smile on his face. “Lancelot, the King said to tell you he won’t be back for a while, he’s gone with Leon on—” he stopped abruptly.

Merlin swallowed.  _ Here we go. _

_ I’m here, Merlin,  _ Morgana echoed into his brain.

“Sir…” Sir Brennis peered at him closely, making Merlin tense up. And then, very carefully, he asked, “Sir, has anyone told you that you look distinctly like the King’s manservant?”

Merlin grinned.  _ The King’s manservant.  _ Not old manservant. Not late or dead manservant. Just manservant. “I’ve heard that once or twice.”

Apparently it was the voice Sir Brennis remembered irrefutably, because his eyes were bouncing between Lancelot, Guinevere, Morgana, and Hunith. “No…” he mumbled. His grey eyes widened, and even though Sir Brennis was now twice Merlin’s size, he took a step back. Even so, a confused smile returned to his lips. “ _ Merlin,”  _ he said, shaking his head emphatically, “how did you—?”

Merlin gave him a quick recap of everything: escaping, the prophecy, the druid camp, coming back to Camelot. When Sir Brennis didn’t say anything, he introduced him to his mother. 

“I— oh. Hello.” He looked like he was in a daze. “So it was true, the accusations and everything. I mean, you never know with Uther, so there was always a bit of speculation— wow, Merlin.” Sir Brennis turned to Hunith, his eyes glinting as he finally registered everything. “You raised an incredible man, My Lady.” And then— of all things— he  _ bowed.  _ A knight. Of Camelot! 

Merlin and Hunith both blushed and rushed to tell him, at the same time, that he needn’t do all that (Morgana audibly sighed. Merlin ignored her). When Sir Brennis righted himself again, Hunith said, with an affectionate pat to Merlin’s cheek, “An incredible man indeed.”

***

Since Arthur was gone for the time being, Hunith demanded they all pay a visit to Poor, Lonely Gaius, as his mother has taken to calling him now. Merlin wasn’t sure Gaius would particularly appreciate that, and he told his mother so, but she assured him that once they all showed up in his chambers he wouldn’t give a damn about being called out on his new lifestyle.

“Plus,” Hunith added as they walked through the castle, “I will need somewhere to stay, now.”

“Nonsense!” said Gwen. “I’m sure Arthur would give you a room. A nice one, too.”

Hunith shook her head. A distance in front of them were two guards guarding an entryway, and Merlin remembered his first day in Camelot suddenly, when he had first asked where he could find the court physician. “I cannot ask that of him,” Hunith responded. “Besides, Gaius is an old friend. I should like to stay with him for a time.”

When they reached the guards, Merlin could tell that they were debating whether to say something about the “resemblance” of a certain manservant, but eventually he guessed they didn’t want to sound absolutely insane and didn’t say anything. They only stepped aside when they saw Morgana, Gwen, and Lancelot accompanying them, and gave a nod as they passed. Through the tiny passageway was a long, twisty set of stairs, and hanging on the wall was a plaque that said “COURT PHYSICIAN”. 

_ Home. _

Merlin started to feel an ache in his chest as he truly thought about seeing Gaius again. Gaius had always been understanding about his powers, even if he didn’t always approve of Merlin’s course of action. He was the one always telling him that Arthur was his destiny. Surely he would see this was necessary?

_ Are you ready?  _ Morgana asked as they all stopped outside Gaius’s door. Lancelot was about to ask him the same thing, apparently, what with the way he was staring at him. Merlin nodded, and Hunith knocked. 

“Come in!” they heard, but the voice didn’t sound as upbeat and spritely as it did before, and Merlin almost didn’t recognize it. 

Lance stepped through first, greeting Gaius and gesturing for everyone else to come in. Merlin snuck in behind Gwen and Morgana, not wanting to give the old man a fright. It didn’t matter anyway. Gaius’s back was to them, not looking like he was particularly concerned with whoever just walked in. That worried Merlin a bit; just because the ban was lifted on magic didn’t mean you should let just anyone catch you unawares. 

“Gaius,” Guinevere started gently, taking a hesitant step towards Gaius, “we’ve brought some people here to see you.”

“People—?” Gaius turned around, two vials in hand over his open book, and promptly dropped them. “Merlin?” 

So, perhaps his plan to hide behind the others wasn’t  _ stellar  _ but. Like ripping off a bandage, right? This was good.

Gaius looked to Gwen, then back to Merlin, then, “Hunith?  _ Merlin?”  _

“Gaius,” Lancelot said, already moving to pull out a chair, “why don’t you have a seat.”

Gaius nodded. “Yes. Yes, I—” He held his chest. “I think I will, thank you.” He bowed his head and white, shoulder-length hair flowed past his shoulders. He took several deep breaths. “You’re alive, Merlin?”

Merlin smiled. “Surprise?”

The room felt like so much like it was holding a breath that Merlin himself felt like he was going to suffocate. Morgana was tense, sending him worried, sympathetic glances. Hunith’s eyes never left Gaius’s face. 

Then slowly, slowly, Gaius raised his eyebrow. “Merlin, you will be the death of me one of these days,” he choked, and then leapt from his chair with a returned energy he looked to have been missing for a long time. In front of Merlin, he smiled and smacked him upside the head.

“Ouch!” Merlin yelped, laughing and rubbing the back of his head. “What was that for?”

Another smack upside the head. Merlin would have a lump by the time this was over. “You foolish, foolish boy. Come here.” 

***

  
  


Lancelot suspected Arthur would return soon, so— to cause as little damage as possible— he suggested Merlin re-introduce himself to the rest of the knights while they were waiting. 

Might as well, Merlin thought. After all, Gwen and Morgana had gone to Morgana’s chambers to change clothes and rest. And, Merlin suspected, give him and the boys some privacy. And he couldn’t even go to his room, now that he didn’t have one— Hunith was adamant about staying in Merlin’s old room ( _ And honestly, Gaius, didn’t you clean while Merlin was away? I can’t have him staying in this dusty old place. I’ll need to be here to help you tidy up anyway.)  _ and for some reason Gaius was certain Merlin would be given his own room in the castle once he met up with Arthur again. Merlin thought he’d gone a little insane in solitude. Arthur was more likely to set him up with a night in the stocks than a room in the castle.

When they reached the training field, several knights were out training, swinging swords at each other and holding out shields. He spotted several familiar faces. His heart jumped.

Lancelot turned to him and murmured, “The armory.” 

Merlin nodded, and they rushed to the weapons building. Some knights were walking in and putting their swords and crossbows away, knowing the real training would likely start when Arthur came back anyway. 

They left the door open, shuffling and joking around inside, and Merlin almost yelled out in happiness: he could hear Gwaine’s voice in the armory, teasing Percival about “looking like a sasquatch”, and hitting on him at the same time. It was such a Gwaine thing to do he almost cried. Which he had been wanting to do a lot lately. He needed to get control of himself before Arthur came home and chastised him for acting like a girl. 

“Merlin?” 

Merlin jumped half a foot in the air, whipping his head around to see who had called to him, but it was only Sir Brennis. He jogged towards them again, peeping into the armory, and gave a confused glance. “What are you doing out here? Gwaine will want to know you’re back. He hasn’t stopped griping on about your death since the day you left.”

Carefully, Lancelot said, “I think Merlin should—”

“There ya go, Merlin!” Sir Brennis exclaimed with a hand to Merlin’s back, and suddenly he didn’t have time to think about how he was going to introduce himself to Gwaine and Percival because he was  _ already standing in front of them. _

Gwaine’s never ending monologue came to a halt abruptly, and immediately Percival started choking on his own breath.

“Look, boys,” Lancelot was saying, one hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “I understand you’re going to be upset, but— oof!” Lancelot grunted as he was shoved into the wall and Gwaine took his place, nearly toppling Merlin over in his haste for a hug. 

Gwaine’s arms squeezed him tight, and his beard scratched at Merlin’s neck, but that was alright. It was more than alright. Merlin hugged him back. 

“What the hell is going on?” he asked, in the smallest voice Merlin ever heard him use. 

“I’m back,” Merlin said, because he didn’t know what else to say. Gods, this was the fifth person (sixth, including Sir Brennis) he’d connected with. You’d think he would get better at it by now.

“He sure is!” Sir Brennis crowed from the entryway, standing behind himself and Lance, and Merlin twisted as much as Gwaine would let him to glare.

“This is not the way I would’ve introduced myself, Sir Brennis.”

“Oh? Then how?” Of course Merlin didn’t have an answer and they both knew it, but—

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Percival leaned his back against the wall, sasquatch arms wrapped around his stomach. He brought a fist up to this mouth in an effort to stop what Merlin imagined was soon-to-be gagging.

Merlin untangled himself from Gwaine’s embrace— ignoring his noise of indignation— and shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Oh, now,” Merlin said, smiling nervously, “that’s not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.” 

Sir Brennis snickered. “It was exactly the reaction  _ I  _ was looking for.” Merlin shoved him. He always was a mischievous little bugger.

“No,” Gwaine demanded. He threw out both of his hands in a ‘halt!’ gesture. “Everybody just hold on.” Merlin realized now that Gwaine’s eyes had never left him, and he felt horrible for the turmoil that was obviously wreaking havoc in his friend’s brain. “I have some questions.”

“I have some answers,” Merlin replied.  _ I hope.  _

Lancelot turned to the training field. “You men catch up,” he said, grinning. “I’m going to check up on the girls.”

As Merlin watched him leave— and take a protesting Sir Brennis with him— he didn’t know if he felt grateful for the privacy or scared to be left to his own devices.

“How did you escape?” Gwaine asked. His hands latched eagerly onto Merlin’s shoulders, and warm, confused brown eyes searched his face like he couldn’t really believe Merlin was real.

“Magic,” Merlin answered. “Duh.” 

Gwaine had to take a seat. “Okay. Magic. Duh.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well, where in the hell have you been?” 

Merlin explained everything: Finna, the prophecy, the druids. Missing Camelot, but finding comfort in Morgana and the friends he made in the camp. Gwaine nodded along the whole time, surprisingly calm throughout each revelation Merlin presented. By the time he was done, Gwaine only had one question: “Did you magic up those muscles, Merlin?”

Despite himself Merlin blushed, not used to his body being noticed in any capacity, and he forced himself to laugh off Gwaine’s signature cheeky smile instead of being embarrassed. “Arthur,” Gwaine said, half laughing, an unreadable thought stamped across his face, “is going to—”

Merlin’s heart-rate spiked. “Arthur? He’s going to what?” Hate him? Panic? Hurt him? Had he changed while Merlin was away?

But Gwaine only shook his head and refused to say anything more. Which he thought was rather unfair. But whatever.

Merlin looked to Percival, who had been strangely quiet the whole time. He was quiet anyway, but this was a big event, and a breakdown was becoming an increasingly likely possibility. “Perce? Any questions for me?”

His eyes were screwed shut. “I— hnngh. I. Um. I guess. Wow.”

“Brilliant.” Gwaine lifted his head to stare at Percival.“Why didn’t you chime in before?”

Percival opened his eyes for the first time in twenty minutes to glare at him. “He’s a  _ sorcerer,  _ Gwaine.”

Merlin’s face fell. It seemed it was too much to ask for everyone’s acceptance. But he’d thought… he knew knights couldn’t  _ really  _ be friends with the servants, but still, he’d thought— 

Merlin looks at the disgust, the literal nausea on his face as this powerful, beast of a man clutches his stomach. He’d thought.

“Yes, he is a sorcerer,” Gwaine said. He leaned forward, squinting at Percival in challenge. “So is Natalie from the kitchens. What’s your point?”

“ _ He died.  _ He was supposed to be  _ dead. _ ”

Gwaine sighed, but this time it was a little shaky. He glanced hesitantly at Merlin, probably knowing this would crush him. It did. “Oh dear,” he said, trying to make light of the situation. “I can see this is going to take you a while. We were past that part ages ago.” He turned to Merlin and gave him what Merlin could tell was a fake smile on his behalf. “Merlin, wake me when he gets to the part where you’ve become a  _ hunk _ , and then we’ll—”

That surprised a laugh out of Merlin that sounded more like a small scream than anything else, but he was grateful all the same. He didn’t want to think about losing people, not when he was so vulnerable already with the thought of facing Arthur, the—

You know. Arthur.

Gwaine must’ve been able to read this on his face because he sprung up from the bench with impressive enthusiasm, deliberately keeping his back to Percival, and started squeezing Merlin’s forearms. “I’m serious! Look at this. Not that you weren’t a gem before, Merls, but I’m just saying.”

“Yeah,” Merlin scoffed playfully at him. “I know what  _ you’re  _ saying.”

Gwaine put his hands up in mock surrender. “I can hardly help it, Merls. Look at my pretty face. I’m not in a position to deny myself anything.” He enveloped Merlin in a hug again, squeezing tightly, and Merlin was so surprised he couldn’t be bothered to protest. (Not that he’d protest.) “Now let’s see how these muscles feel—”

Laughing, Merlin began squirming out of his friend’s grip, and then— 

“Are you manhandling the stableboy again?” 

Everyone froze. 

Arthur just walked in. Merlin would recognize that voice anywhere.

He… gods. He was… kingly. Noble. Golden. And after a year away?  Just about the handsomest thing Merlin had ever seen.

“Let the man go, Gwaine,” Arthur commanded, paying no mind to Merlin in Gwaine’s arms, or a hyperventilating Percival. He grabbed his sword where it was hanging on the wall and finished up fastening half-done armour— by  _ himself—  _ and the sight of it hit such a shock of familiarity and fondness into him that he truly couldn’t breathe for a few seconds. “Need I remind you,” he continued, “ _ once again,  _ that you are a Knight of Camelot. At this rate, I’ll need to remind the stableboy, too—”

And then he turned, probably to apologize to who he thought was the stableboy, and a now-extracted Merlin figured... hey, now was as good a time as any. 

He turned around completely, too, so that he was no longer looking out of the corner of his eye. They were 100% face-to-face. “Believe me, sire,” Merlin started, unable to contain his grin now that he was with his king again. “I need no reminding.”

Merlin told himself, up until this point, that he would have no expectations. That he would willingly and gracefully accept whatever Arthur’s reaction was. Be it anger, grief, or happiness, he would welcome it. 

Now he wasn’t so sure.

Arthur just… stared at him. His face looked stricken, and his blue eyes in deep, deep pain. They left Merlin’s face to glace around the room, reading the faces of Gwaine and Percival, and he could see the moment when Arthur realized this was the real deal. That Merlin was back for good.

But then Arthur’s face clouded, and it was darker than Merlin ever remembered seeing it. If he didn’t know better, he would be afraid. This was Arthur, right? His Arthur. The other side of his coin.

But as he looked at the malicious expression on his king’s face, Merlin remembered that this was Uther’s son. Perhaps there wasn’t as much change as he’d thought— flashes of past Arthur condemning magic, raiding a druid camp, calling sorcery evil all filled his brain at once. So when Arthur glared at him, murderous, and  _ pointed a sword at him,  _ well, Merlin  _ cowered.  _

Suddenly he was afraid of Arthur. Truly, for the first time since he’d known him.

Gwaine, seeing the way Merlin stepped back and shrunk in on himself, shielded his body with his own, using one arm to keep Merlin behind out of instinct.

“Gwaine,” Arthur growled, “step back. He’s not who you think he is.”

Gwaine, being Gwaine, stepped forward instead. The tip of the sword touched his chainmail. “Oh, not this again,” he groaned. And then, more menacingly, “He’s  _ exactly  _ who I think he is, Princess.”

Across the room, Percival seemed to understand something the rest of them were missing. Merlin’s heart broke further in two, if that were possible. There was a time when Merlin was the one who was able to read him like a book. “Your highness,” Percival said, more evenly than Merlin thought capable, all things considering. “It’s really him.”

For a moment something recognizable entered Arthur’s eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “No. No. Merlin died. At the hand of my father. At the hand of Camelot. At the hand of  _ me.  _ He burnt to  _ death.  _ I- I smelt the flesh  _ burning off his body,  _ and you’re telling me he’s here? Don’t insult me like that.” His eyes were red-rimmed now, face fierce, and Merlin would throw himself at him in a hug if he weren’t sure the sword would impale him. “This is an  _ imposter.”  _

“But it isn’t,” Merlin rebutted, voice soft. “It’s me, Arthur. I’ve come back, to— to serve you.” They stared at each other for a minute, feeling broken and impossible, and Gwaine took the opportunity to gently push the sword down until Arthur was unarmed, and he let him. The murderous look left his face, and Merlin tried his best to smile like he did a year ago.

It must work, because Arthur’s eyes blew wide, and Merlin thought,  _ Yes, yes, he understands.  _ But he faltered. Arthur’s hands, he could see clearly now, started to shake, and his breath was coming in short spurts, but his eyes never left Merlin’s. He was gasping for breath, struggling to catch it, and Percival stepped forward to help, but  _ Merlin was the physician here, damn it.  _ He held out a hand to warn off Percival, and then placed it on Arthur’s shoulder. He tried not to be offended by the absolute panic he saw grip Arthur as soon as he made contact and guided him to sit down on the bench. 

He crouched. Placed a hand over Arthur’s strong chest (not now, Merlin), over his rapidly beating heart. “Breathe,” he murmured. “Breathe.” He pushed his head down until it was between his knees, and after some time Merlin— thank gods— could feel Arthur’s heart slow along with his breathing. 

“How?” Arthur rasped.

“How do you breathe? Well—”

Arthur, like old times, sent him a look through his heaving that said,  _ Shut up, Merlin.  _ Merlin grinned.

“It’s quite simple, actually,” Merlin told him, smiling half-heartedly. “I never died in the first place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so what did we think? pls let me know with comments (and kudos?) if you feel like :)  
> love u muchly,  
> madi


	5. Dance Alone to the Beat of Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with the aftermath of Merlin's return to Camelot is hard enough. With jealous Arthur, mischievous Gwaine, and an annoyed Gwen, it's even harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all! I meant to update this yesterday, like normal, but it was mother's day so I was a bit busy celebrating my mom :). but i'm here now! and i brought the goods!
> 
> (also you can follow me on tumblr @rageynerd at your own risk if you'd like.)
> 
> Pls let me know what you think and I really hope you like this one!!

Merlin wasn’t quite sure it had hit Arthur yet. It seemed like they’d been having this conversation for hours. After Arthur had calmed down in the armory, Merlin suggested they talk in his chambers, and he’d been looking like he’d seen a ghost since. 

It didn’t help that, while Arthur lied back on his bed and stared up at the curtains, he wouldn’t stop questioning everything. He was especially fascinated with Finna. “How did she know who you were?” he’d asked. Merlin had shrugged. He wondered how everyone knew his name, too. 

“To be honest, I never really asked.”

“You never asked? Why wouldn’t you ask?”

Merlin glared at Arthur from where he sat on top of the desk, but Arthur didn’t meet his eyes. His face only contorted into utter disbelief. “I had more pressing matters, at the moment.”

Arthur’s face smoothed down into perfect, practiced indifference immediately. “I suppose you did,” he said. “Anyway, why wouldn’t you just come back?”

Merlin sighed and rubbed his brow. He’d asked this question at least three times. “I needed to keep you alive, Arthur. Among other reasons.”

“Like?” Arthur’s face twisted up again.

“Isn’t the first reason enough?”

Merlin got no answer, but he had a feeling he knew what it would be. As a prince, and now a king, hardly anything had been off-limits. He had all this power. Merlin supposed it was hard for him to imagine that there were fates and destinies completely out of their hands. 

He told him about replacing the body— he tried very hard not to look over at Arthur then when he made a strangled sound— and running off with the druids. When Arthur asked what he did there, all he said was that he was a physician, trying to put Gaius’s training to good use. Arthur had asked lots of other questions, too; he had a fascination with the people there, apparently. He wouldn’t stop asking about his relationship with each one, what they did, what they looked like… perhaps this was Arthur’s way of getting to know his magic kin better. Merlin smiled, said they were fine people, and left it at that.

He looked down at the desk, tracing the lines in the wood with his eyes. For a moment he remembered his peaceful life there, days upon days of a community coming together and taking care of one another. He missed it. A lot. 

When he looked up and over at Arthur again, they finally made eye contact. Arthur watched him with a strange look on his face. “What?” Merlin asked. 

“What’s your name?” 

Merlin nearly fell of the desk. 

“Your  _ real  _ name,” he added.

_ Arthur— Arthur thought— _ “Merlin, my lord,” he replied, breathlessly. “Always has been.”

Arthur, to his surprise, rolled his eyes. He tossed in bed a bit before rolling up into a sitting position, and Merlin could hardly find it in himself to laugh at the way his hair had mussed against the pillows. “No. You’re magic. So… the Druids believe in having a ‘true name’, I believe, yes? There’s a name for your day-to-day-life, but there’s another name that’s like the embodiment of your magic or something, and—” He must have seen the way Merlin was looking at him like he was absolutely insane, because he blushed a Pendragon-red and cleared his throat. “Anyway,  _ Mer _ lin, how do you know so little about your own kind?”

Merlin sputtered for a few minutes, unable to find solid ground now that he had been completely thrown off by Arthur and his mini-lecture on magic names. Which was… Okay, hearing Arthur spout off in complete kingly confidence about sorcery, in complete good faith?

It did things to his stomach.

“Well,” he stumbled out, “i-it’s true, that they’re my kind, in a sense. But only distantly. I’m not a druid, I’m a warlock. It’s different. And besides… you are my kind, too. I’m not one or the other; I grew up with non-magic people, just like everybody else.” Merlin hopped off the desk and came closer to the bed until he had one hand wrapped around the bedpost, swinging his body forward with its momentum to peer closely at Arthur. “How do  _ you  _ know so much about it?”

Whatever color had left his face while Merlin was speaking returned tenfold. Arthur cleared his throat. “Well, obviously when you find out your manservant’s been lying to you for  _ years,  _ you do your research.”

Merlin winced. “Arthur, I’m sorry, you know I wouldn’t—”

But Arthur didn’t let him finish. “What’s your name?” he asked again, quietly. His face wasn’t mad, per se, but there was something there that Merlin couldn’t quite pin. 

“Emrys,” Merlin answered. Arthur nodded, like Merlin passed a test or something. And then he leaned forward, legs bent and elbows on his knees, looking earnestly at Merlin. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. Before Merlin could ask  _ for what,  _ he continued. “I lifted the ban too late.”

_ Oh,  _ Merlin thought, looking sadly at Arthur’s earnest and regretful face,  _ Doesn’t he see?  _ “It’s okay,” he replied. “That’s why I had to go. I knew that I had to leave if you were to become a great king.”

Arthur reared back like he had been slapped. His face looked shocked at first glance but then immediately morphed into something wholly different. Arthur was  _ pissed.  _ He stood abruptly, pacing the room, and Merlin was so baffled at what was happening he jumped up with him. He leapt in front of Arthur (rather stupidly, he’d admit) mid-pace, and Arthur immediately shoved him against the wall, so hard the chamber doors next to him rattled. “No,” he spat, hot breath panting against Merlin’s cheek, “No. Actually, I would’ve been a better king with you  _ here. _ ”

Merlin’s mouth quirked up at the side, a sad little thing. “Well, I see you’ve been managing just fine.” He squirmed a little under Arthur’s hold, trying not to remember the very similar fantasies he’d been having since Arthur had asked him if he knew how to walk on his knees. ( _ Would you like to learn?  _ He’d asked.  _ Yes, absolutely—)  _ “The people are happy under your rule.” He paused, as much to collect his thoughts as his suddenly erratic breath. “I am sorry about your father, though.”

Arthur snapped back with a bitter laugh, releasing Merlin at once. “Don’t do that. He executed you, Merlin. That doesn’t change just because he didn’t succeed.” Merlin started to open his mouth in protest, but Arthur continued anyway. “I won’t say I hate my father. I can’t just turn it off, but I— I can’t forgive him.” His eyes downcasted to the floor in shame or anger, he wasn’t sure which.

“I see,” Merlin replied, because he did. “I am, though. He was your father. He loved you.” A heavy pause lingered in the air, and he could feel the weight of it threatening to sink him to the floor, the only thing truly grounding him being Arthur’s heavy breathing. And then, with bated breath, asked, “Can you forgive  _ me? _ ”

Arthur raised his head again, looked at him,  _ really  _ looked at him, for a long time. 

“I don’t know,” he said.

***

Gwaine pressed his face directly against Arthur’s chamber doors, angling his ear for prime listening advantage. They sounded like they were on the far end of the chambers, but he could hear the gist of what they were saying anyway. These two frequently forgot over the years that castle doors were not sound proof, and honestly Gwaine couldn’t be blamed if he just happened to take advantage of that fact.

“Ow,” Percival whispered next to him, as his foot got crunched in Gwaine’s twisting. “What are they saying?”

“Shhhhh,” Gwaine hushed. He closed his eyes… thought maybe he could hear the rumblings of Merlin having to leave… something about Arthur being a great king… 

Gwaine snorted. This time Percival crunched his foot. 

He was just about to turn and angry-whisper to Percival— he couldn’t eavesdrop properly if he was getting  _ assaulted,  _ thank you very much— when a loud bang sounded to his left and he was forced to remove his face from rattling doors. He looked over at Percival, who shook his head in confusion, mouth slightly open. He held one very large hand to his face, cradling where the door had smacked him. 

Gwaine tentatively lowered his ear to the door again, listening for any sign that they’d been caught (due to Perce’s girly yelp, of all things) and just barely heard the last few words of Arthur and Merlin’s conversation— apparently  _ hot  _ conversation, slammed up against the door like that— damn. Gwaine was proud of them. Way to go, Merlin.

Gwaine glanced at Percival. Maybe by the end of this he could convince him that wall-pinning was a necessary position for all future conversations. King-approved.

_ Focus, Gwaine,  _ he thought, shaking his head. He drew his eyebrows together and listened hard… and then he heard the juiciest bit of information he’d caught thus far. He waved a hand to pull Percival down next to him. “ _ Can you forgive  _ me _?” _

_ “I don’t know.” _

Gwaine immediately straightened, taking a step back from the door, and then another. Gods. He couldn’t believe this. What the hell was wrong with the Princess? He let a small, guttural, angry sound escape him before he found himself storming down the halls. Just as he was about to (attempt to) put his hand through the wall (again), Percival caught up to him and wrapped his fingers around Gwaine’s fist. Neither of them said a thing.

The two knights stared in each other’s eyes for a minute, Gwaine communicating all the anguish he would never say out loud, and Percival comforting him in the way a simple hug couldn’t accomplish. Gwaine had never felt so… seen. So looked after, aside from when he was with Merlin, but… somehow that was different. He couldn’t explain it, but it felt good.

It felt  _ really good. _

The truth was, he was tired of making jokes and rolling with the punches and pretending he was fine. His best friend in the whole world just came back from the dead. The least he deserved was a warm fucking welcome. But Arthur, the thick-headed numpty, couldn’t forgive him? Didn’t he realize how lucky they were?

Percival’s grip loosened and their hands fell apart, swaying back to their sides. The look on his face was conflicted, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say what he was about to. “I don’t know if I can forgive him either,” he said. Gwaine’s eyebrows shot up, and he was gearing up to make his case— or Merlin’s case, really— when Percival interrupted him by hanging his head. Like he was ashamed. “I want to,” he continued. “But you don’t understand. It’s different for you— you knew all along. For me, for Elyan, for Arthur… we’d trusted him. We would’ve done anything for him. Especially Arthur. And now… we aren’t sure who that person is. Was. I don’t know.”

Gwaine stared at Percival. Percival averted his eyes. Gwaine sighed dramatically. “I can’t believe you guys think  _ I’m  _ the one with the ego,” Gwaine muttered. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Listen,” he began again, at a normal volume. “I didn’t know all along. But I can’t help it if I’m smarter than you lot.” Percival smacked him upside the head and sent him a wry smile. Gwaine grinned cheekily back. “Take as much time as you need to process Merlin and his magic. But if you dull even one of those razor-sharp cheekbones you’ll have me to answer to.”

Percival smirked. One tree-trunk arm came to wrap around his shoulders, and Gwaine found he quite liked the weight it bore down on him. “Noted,” said Perce. “Now let’s go snag some food from the kitchens before Arthur hears you say that.”

***

Morgana had always found it incredibly amusing when Arthur complained about a certain manservant. Over the years, he would describe how incompetent Merlin was, how he had told him to do a chore eight times within the morning and by nightfall he would have forgotten all about it. It was funny to her because, although Merlin and Gwen were such good friends, her maid was the complete opposite.

Even when it was clear, as it was now, that Gwen wasn’t happy with her, she still bustled about the room. Morgana watched as Gwen replaced each vase of flowers that were beginning to droop with new, fresh ones without even being told. She worked on the pile of laundry, unfolding and hanging each gown delicately, and although she was excellent at completing all of her tasks, she had never done it this quietly before. Morgana made several attempts at casual conversation, to which Gwen would usually speak a few words or tell a story, but now she just hummed and continued on with her hanging.

By the time Gwen had basically finished tending to her chambers with only the bedsheets to change, Morgana was getting fidgety. She shifted in her chair, unable to accept the growing unease between them. Gwen was her closest friend. If she lost her, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. 

Sitting at her vanity, pretending to rearrange her hair for nighttime, she stole a few looks at Gwen by the bed out of the corner of her eye. By the third look in as many minutes, Gwen had finished changing the sheet and she had not looked over at Morgana once.

“Have you never been afraid in your life?” she blurted out, like a small child, wrapping her shawl around herself. She winced at what she sounded like. But at least Gwen finally turned to look over at her from where she was smoothing a hand over the sheets, making sure they fit perfectly. When they did make eye contact, Gwen looked resigned to the truth but disappointed. 

“Of course I have.” Her voice was distant.

Morgana hastily stood from her chair and hugged the shawl to herself again— the detachment between the two of them, who were normally inseparable, was making her colder by the minute. She rushed to Gwen’s side. “Gwen, you have to understand,” she pleaded, “what would telling you have done? You couldn’t do anything for me, and I couldn’t risk it with Uther—”

Gwen stood up straight and removed her hand from the bedding like she was burned. “I could’ve accepted it, you know. If it was just the magic. Or just Merlin. But you didn’t trust me with  _ either,  _ Morgana.”

“I wanted to, believe me—”

“And you left me at home on those hunting tips,” she stated quietly. “Now I know it was to visit Merlin, but at the time… I thought you were trying to get rid of me. You always just said I wasn’t needed. I don’t even know what was worse, but…” She paused and shook her head, staring downwards. “You should have trusted me, Morgana.”

“Yes,” Morgana agreed immediately. She grasped both ends of the shawl with one hand and grasped Gwen’s hand with the other. “You’re right. I do trust you. And I do need you.” She let her hand go with a painful sigh. “I still have to tell Arthur.”

Gwen immediately thawed, to which Morgana was both surprised and delighted. Gwen pulled her in for a hug. She was temporarily hurt, but that didn’t mean she didn’t recognize how big of a deal this was for Morgana. “He’ll be fine, Morgana. He’s your brother. He loves you.”

“He loves Merlin,” Morgana said with a sly, somewhat self-mocking smile. “And who knows how he’s reacting to the news that he’s alive.”

Gwen playfully pushed Morgana’s shoulder. “Oh, you shouldn’t say things like that,” she admonished, but there was a small, secretive smile on her face.

“Why not? You have Lance. And besides, we all know it’s true.” 

Gwen giggled through her disapproving looks, but didn’t deny it. “You have great courage, Morgana, I know you do. Arthur’s just… passionate. He’ll come around. But you’d better tell him sooner rather than later. He’ll find out eventually.”

Morgana knew she was right. She must have faith in Arthur and her courage, but more importantly, in herself. Even if a part of her still recoiled in fear at the thought of the truth coming out. She hoped that Merlin was giving Arthur the speech he gave her when he had first escaped from Camelot— that magic could be a force for good; that it didn’t change who you were as a person unless you let it; that it was a beautiful connection, a bridging between man and nature that deserved to be celebrated.

Gwen gestured to the chair at her vanity and Morgana promptly took a seat. Apparently Gwen could tell when she wasn’t actually doing her nightly routine— not that she had put much effort into keeping up appearances— because she picked up the hairbrush and began gently brushing out Morgana’s curls. The act of the repeated motion calmed Morgana down to the point where she was beyond words, but when she looked in the mirror and her eyes met Gwen’s, she knew her message was heard anyway. Gwen smiled, and Morgana did, too.

***

It was uncomfortably silent in the King’s chambers.

Arthur sat down at his desk, pretending to write the speech he knew he’d have to give eventually, but really he was just watching Merlin. It was so familiar that his brain almost didn’t process it: hearing Merlin clang things together, pitter-pattering about the room, picking up shirts Arthur had discarded to the floor. (The maid only came once a week to straighten up the place, on his command, while he was taking meetings. The rest of the time he was on his own, and… well, lucky for Merlin that the maid had come only two days prior.) 

But his brain couldn’t fully take him back to Before. Because now that he’d started to process everything, he realized… something was different about Merlin. First of all, he wasn’t tripping over everything like he used to. As nice as it was, the space felt empty in a different way, without having to listen to Merlin’s grunts and yelps every five seconds when he found something new to walk into.

Second of all, he thought as he watched Merlin polish his armour,  _ his chest.  _ What happened? What happened to lanky, skinny Merlin? He was still slim, slimmer than anyone Arthur knew by far, but now he had… gods, he had broad shoulders now, like he could carry Arthur’s whole weight on them, and—  _ Arthur. Stop.  _

But he couldn’t.  _ He couldn’t.  _ If Merlin were to get warm and, he didn’t know, maybe yank off his shirt, toss it out the window never to be returned again, Arthur would probably be able to see his back muscles flexing while he hunched over the armour to polish… or when he bent over to pick things up off the floor and put them in their place… And now that the shirt was off, the neckerchief had to go, too, of course. And after that—

Oh, gods help him. He needed to stop before there was no clothing left on the Merlin in his mind. Anyway. The point was— Merlin looked good. Arthur spent a moment contemplating how he made the change, what life was like in that year. He knew Merlin lived with the druids. He also knew from Celestina that the druids would rather sacrifice themselves before denying Merlin anything. It didn’t add up, unless Merlin had insisted on helping out anyway, and he knew Merlin to never take on more chores if they weren’t given. And he had magic for that, anyway— although he quickly dismissed the idea when he remembered Merlin was still doing his chores in the castle the old-fashioned way. Was it a courtesy thing, perhaps? Did he really like it so much there? Were the people that great?

And  _ who  _ had he met that was great? Did they get to watch his back muscles? Someone at least must have been attracted to his status in the camp. Even without the status, Merlin was—

“Arthur? Is everything alright?”

“Huh?” Arthur jolted as he was dipping his quill in ink for the eighth consecutive time. He yanked it back in surprise, then gasped because the inkwell had decided to come with it, apparently, and now his front was stained in black. Of course. He looked wryly up at Merlin. “Fine, Merlin. Get me a spare, would you?”

When Merlin just stood there with a smile, Arthur began to rethink his words. This wasn’t Merlin’s place anymore, was it? To be ordered around and such? He switched tactics. This ink was starting to feel very uncomfortable, much like Merlin’s stare. He cleared his throat. “Merlin. Would you please hand me another shirt?”

This time it looked like Merlin was pulled out of something, but he walked immediately to his wardrobe.  _ I see,  _ Arthur thought.

Merlin chose his blue shirt, pulled it out, and then paused. He cast a look over at Arthur and then, with what looked to be great dubiety, nodded at his stained shirt. Arthur immediately looked down, thinking maybe he failed to observe something, but by the time he did the stain was already gone.

He looked back at Merlin, amazed. All he did was fix a stain, but still, it was with hardly any effort at all. He’d talked to Celestina far too often— and Gaius, when he was present enough for it, which was almost never— so he knew that Merlin was this great powerful sorcerer, or warlock, or whatever. But he’d always assumed it was in the way that, if it came down to it, Merlin could kick some serious ass. He didn’t necessarily think Merlin could make things disappear without barely moving his head.

Arthur, fearing that he would make a rash decision they would both regret later, decided he needed to get out of there immediately. “Okay, I’ll be going down to the training fields.”

Merlin tilted his head confusedly. “Don’t you need to finish what you’re working on? I hardly saw you write anything.”

_ Now  _ he decided to be observant? “Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. Training is far more important, and the knights are wasting daylight. We were supposed to already be training, but all of your commotion put everything into a state of upheaval.”

Merlin scoffed. “Sorry.”

Arthur didn’t know what to say— he was caught between  _ don’t be  _ and  _ you should be _ , so he simply crossed the distance between them to put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze.

This was the wrong decision. The feeling of Merlin immediately melting under him… was not helping matters. He needed to get his mind off everything. He needed to train. That had always done the trick.

He turned away jerkily and took a step towards the door. By the time he was about to walk out, Merlin called out to him. “Wait,” he said eagerly, “I’ll go with you.”

Unfortunately, Arthur was too thrown off to protest, and as they left the chambers Merlin lingered behind, uncertain— in a way that was proper for normal servants but unsettling, Arthur decided, for Merlin.


	6. Strike a Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have changed, and Camelot is starting to not feel like home anymore. Arthur and Merlin have changed, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmaooo you thought we were done with angst? you thought the pain was over? you fools. you absolute suckers.
> 
> okay, but seriously. a little bit longer than usual since the last one was so short. i really hope you enjoy <3
> 
> (big thanks to azoth for beta-ing this so promptly. my hero. all mistakes are my own.)
> 
> you all are so sweet. love u muchly.
> 
> now for some merthur!

On the training grounds, Leon had already rounded up the men. There were several pairs already sparring, testing out swordsmanship and fighting sequences across the field. Merlin noticed Gwaine and Percival swinging at each other, but… something was off about it. Percival was obviously pulling his hits and Gwaine was more focused on his hair than practice (which, okay, was nothing new but— Percival was making it weird). 

To the right of them, Merlin spotted Sir Brennis taking a water break, leaning against a tree and breathing heavy. He was probably Leon’s partner, since Leon was the only one who didn’t have one. Leon himself was standing in front of Merlin, Arthur, and Sir Brennis, studying battle scrolls as his partner rested up. 

Merlin was just about to go up to Leon and rip off the bandage when Arthur shoved him away. “No,” he whispered. “Hang out of sight until I can break it to my men.”

Well, if he wanted to do it the hard way. Merlin shrugged and walked over to Sir Brennis, exchanged hellos, and sat on the other side of the tree so he couldn’t see the knights and they couldn’t see him. He turned his head a little, though, enough to catch Lancelot and Elyan swordfighting, and he smiled. He was excited to reconnect with Elyan. They’d always been friendly with each other, having Gwen in common, and perhaps naively Merlin wasn’t very worried about him. After all, he was Gwen’s brother. He could pretty much expect the same reaction, couldn’t he?

“Do you think something’s going on with Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival?” Sir Brennis asked him, throwing a sprinkle of water at his head. The cool drops landed on his forehead, and Merlin laughed, wiping them away.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Okay, just making sure someone else sees it.”

***

After Arthur told Merlin to go out of sight, he did go to the only place that was really reasonable to hide considering Leon was right in front of them, but Arthur was still annoyed. Here he was, trying to break the news to his right-hand that his manservant and  ~~ unbeknownst lover  ~~ best friend had returned from the dead, and  _ Merlin  _ was cozying up with  _ Sir Brennis.  _ Of all people! He was too young, first of all, and frankly had no concept of boundaries. Flicking water at his servant. Laughing with his servant.  _ Moving to the other side of the tree so he can lean against his servant.  _

Yes, he’d have to have a long talk with their newest knight. A long talk indeed.

But for now, Arthur thought, shaking his head to clear it, he should be focusing on Leon.

As soon as he approached, Leon seemed to sense him. He turned around and, sounding relieved, exclaimed, “There you are, sire! Lancelot told me you had an urgent matter to deal with and expressed a desire to not be interrupted, but I knew you were stressed about keeping the knights prepared, so I thought I’d gather them while you were attending.”

“Yes, thank you, Leon. I was just about to gather them myself.” Arthur cleared his throat. “Leon… there’s something I need to speak to you about.” 

Leon looked both ways for potential eavesdroppers, then leaned in and whispered, “My Lord?”

Arthur cleared his throat again. This wasn’t going to be easy. Best to just come out with it. “It’s about Merlin, he—”

“You can’t still blame yourself, My Lord.”

He flushed, knowing Merlin could hear their conversation. “No, I—”

Leon shook his head, like he was disappointed. “Because, really, I know you miss him, but if you’ll forgive me for saying so… the knights need a leader, and Camelot needs their king.”

Arthur, hearing at once the truth and falsity of it, bristled. “Merlin!” he called— admittedly without thinking it through. Merlin’s mop of black hair popped around the other side of the tree trunk, and he nearly smiled. It was too late to turn back now. “Come here.”

Merlin came entirely out this time, walking over to them, and as soon as he could get a proper glimpse Leon cried, “ _ Merlin?”  _ He looked bewildered. 

“Hello,” Merlin stated breathlessly, coming to a stop in front of them, his back to the field. Leon, not knowing what to do, took a look at Arthur’s face, then Merlin’s, and read what was there. The nervous fondness. The hope that Leon would react well. Then, just as Arthur had done, he flipped a switch and drew his sword.

“Sire, this is an imposter. An enemy of Camelot.” He held the tip of the blade to Merlin’s throat.

“No, he’s not a—  _ Leon,”  _ Arthur commanded. “I’ve been through this. Trust me. He survived. With magic.” Saying it made Arthur’s eyes glassy as he remembered the year before, and the first time he saw Merlin alive after— but if anyone asked about it, he’d deny it.

Luckily Leon always took the king at his word, whether he truly believed it or not, so he sheathed his sword. Still looking incredibly suspicious, might he add. Arthur spotted Elyan and Lancelot making their way over, probably wondering what all the fuss was about. Elyan didn’t look like he recognized Merlin. Last he checked, he’d been pretty angry with him. There was no way he’d be walking over this calmly.

“Hey, Arthur, you’re back. What was—” And then he saw him. You could see the moment Elyan saw him. His eyes got dark, his face turned grim, and he immediately drew his sword.

Merlin took a step back, and not for the first time Arthur wondered why he didn’t just use magic to protect himself. Not that it would help him look better in Elyan’s eyes. 

Elyan said nothing, and they all let out a breath, thinking maybe he just needed to process like everyone else. But then he gave a ruthless swing, slicing his sword across the air. If Merlin wasn’t so damn quick he would’ve gotten hit right in the stomach. With how hard Elyan was swinging at him?

It would’ve been a kill shot.

Arthur was suddenly furious. Merlin didn’t resurrect himself, in a manner of speaking, just to get slain by one of his men. He was especially glad now for the times he’d made Merlin come out and practice with them. If he refused to use magic, at least he could protect himself this way.

“Elyan,” Arthur bit, pulling him by his shoulder, “It’s okay. It’s okay! It’s the real Merlin.”

Elyan pulled out of his grasp and lunged forward. “ _ I know. _ ”

Merlin barely managed to evade the next three swings. Arthur was a little confused… they were friends. He was angry, sure, but they all were. Not enough to actually try to kill Merlin. This was insanity. He wouldn’t allow it.

“ _ ELYAN!”  _ Arthur bellowed. “THAT. IS. ENOUGH.”

Elyan stopped immediately, knowing he went too far and not looking happy about it. 

And still, he couldn’t help but push a little further. “He’s dangerous, sire. Who knows all the things he’d been up to behind your back. Besides, he could always fight back, couldn’t you, Merlin?” Elyan jeered.

“No,” Merlin said at once. “I won’t fight you.”

“Why not?” Elyan grabbed his sword again. “Why won’t you?”

It was Leon who stopped him this time with a hand on his shoulder, giving what looked to be an extra tight squeeze, given the wince on the other man’s face. “If the King trusts him, so should we.”

Arthur glowered at Elyan. “Do you question my judgement?”

The whole field suddenly seemed to quiet around them. 

“No, sire,” responded Elyan. He glared at Merlin. “Forgive me. But he has always clouded your judgement.”

Oh, God, he— was there  _ anyone  _ who didn’t know about this?

Merlin scoffed. “I have  _ not!”  _ He seemed to think they were speaking of clouding his brain with potions and spells, instead of the reality, which was his cheekbones and wit and ratty old neckerchiefs.

“Please!” Elyan sneered. “You don’t think we know whose opinion he’s always put before ours?” 

Arthur felt the blood drain from his face. He didn’t know what to say and he was too thrown off to stymie his onslaught. 

“You don’t think we saw your influence behind over half the decisions he made?” he continued. “You don’t think we saw the way he—”

Oh. Arthur was truly going to be sick now.

Lancelot, of all people, drew his sword this time. “Elyan, as usual, you go too far.”

Around this time  _ everyone’s  _ attention had been caught, and all of his knights had crowded around them in a circle before long with Elyan, Merlin, and Lancelot in the middle. They  _ ooh _ ed and  _ ahhh _ ed like Merlin was some new decoration on the castle walls, and Merlin shrunk back from their stares. He always was uncomfortable with a lot of attention. Arthur was glad to see that at least that hadn’t changed. 

He was also glad to see that, in contrast to the rest of them, most of the other knights (who didn’t know Merlin as well as those from the round table) seemed genuinely happy he’d returned. In a moment Arthur wished he’d never seen, Sir Gaheris picked Merlin up by the waist, like an honest-to-gods damsel, and swung him around, pure joy bright on their faces. Then Sir Gaheris pulled Merlin into what Arthur was sure was a bone-crushing hug, and when Arthur’s face heated this time, it wasn’t from sickness, except the disgust kind.

They all exchanged hellos with Merlin and then it was apparently time for an interrogation; suddenly Merlin was getting bombarded with questions about how he did it, if he really  _ always  _ used magic for good as Gwaine was telling them (Gwaine? When did Gwaine tell them all this? And why didn’t he know any of these stories?), if he was immortal, if he knew he was immortal when he offered to drink poison for Arthur that one time, if he’d ever killed anyone—

And then Merlin vanished.

***

When Merlin landed out of his teleportation spell, he found himself outside Morgana’s chambers. At the moment she was just about the only person he felt close to, wholly and without judgement. Even Lancelot and Gwaine, as accepting and kind as they were, were tied to the knights first and foremost. He just needed someone who completely understood the tolls magic took.

Merlin barged in without hesitation and Morgana, surprised, asked, “Could you be bothered to  _ knock,  _ Merls? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry,” Merlin said, and then burst into tears.

Morgana immediately rushed over to him. “Merlin,” she cried, “what’s wrong, darling? I thought Gwen and Lancelot told me things went well with Arthur?” 

“I wanted to come home,” he sobbed. “I wanted to come home so bad.”

Morgana pulled him down so they were sitting on her chairs, hunched over keeping Merlin upright. “I know you did,” she said. “You  _ are  _ home, Merls. Everything will work out.”

“What if it doesn’t? All that time, for them. I had been missing them so much and they were just… building up their hatred for me. I can’t take it anymore. All the things I’ve done for Camelot…” he sniffled and rested his chin on Morgana’s shoulder. “I returned home for the people who made it so. This doesn’t feel like home anymore, Gana.”

Morgana was silent. Merlin supposed there probably wasn’t much to say.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” she finally whispered. “I am. If you just give them some time—”

“I don’t know if I have any more to give. I risked everything, for a year. I know it was hard for them, but it was hard for me, too. I feel empty. I’ve never done what I do for recognition, but… I’m so tired. I’ve done my job to make Arthur king. It’s safe for you to live here as your truest self now, Gana. Maybe it’s better for everyone if I just stay away. I’ll head back to the druids—”

“No!” Morgana yelped, and Merlin hushed immediately. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself and her panic and brought a hand to Merlin’s hair. She smiled slightly. He leaned into her palm like a house cat. “You don’t know what you’re saying, darling, you can’t run away. To be honest with you I don’t even think it’ll work this time.”

Merlin sniffled again and brought his head up to look into her eyes with his watery, red-rimmed ones. “What do you mean?”

“This time Arthur knows you’re alive. Despite whatever he may be feeling, I doubt he’d let you get very far. Plus, you have to stay for me.” At Merlin’s questioning gaze, she looked down at the table. “I still have to tell Arthur. I can’t do this without you,” she said quietly.

Merlin nodded. “Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll stay for you.”

Morgana smiled brightly at him. “Great. Why don’t you stay with me, too? Just for the night. You could probably use a getaway for the moment, and Gwen will be around shortly. She’s always a comfort.”

Merlin accepted. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to go, and besides, it would be getting dark soon.

***

A few hours later, Gwen, Morgana, and Merlin were all laughing and playing cards at the table when there was a knock at the door. 

“Yes?” Morgana asked, pausing the game to get up and answer the door. 

“It’s me,” the voice said. It was Arthur.

Morgana quickly ushered Merlin behind the screens they had used to hide the druid boy many years ago. Gwen remained by Morgana’s side to explain the laughter and card games. “Coming,” Morgana called. 

As soon as she opened the door, Arthur came tumbling in. The curtains to Merlin’s hiding place was closed, but he wanted to see what Arthur wanted, so he cast a spell that allowed him to see through the material.

He could see Arthur properly now, and the look on his face gave Merlin chills.

“Have you seen Merlin?” Arthur asked.

“No,” said Morgana. Arthur turned to Gwen, who replied no as well. But Arthur must’ve been able to sense their hesitation, because he demanded to know where he was.

“We don’t know!” Morgana assured him. She stepped closer. “Maybe you should check with Gaius.”

“I did. He’s not there.”

“He’ll come back, Arthur,” Gwen hastily encouraged. “I’m sure. Just give him some time to cool off.”

Apparently that had been the wrong thing to say, because Arthur was looking at her suspiciously now, blue eyes squinting. “Cool off? How do you know he was angry?” 

Merlin’s breath caught.  _ Save it, Morgana— _

Morgana nods nearly imperceptibly. “Gwen was watching you all from the window, weren’t you, Gwen?”

“Y-yes, My Lady. I was watching, and everyone seemed to gang up on him— I saw his face before he disappeared. He seemed pretty hurt. Definitely angry.”

_ Does she leave anything to the imagination?  _ He grumbled to Morgana. 

Morgana cackled in his head.  _ At least it’s all true. _

He couldn’t deny that. It might be embarrassing to listen to them spout off all his feelings to Arthur, especially since Arthur already called him a girl regularly, it wasn’t like any of it was untrue. He had been angry and hurt. 

Arthur looked more frantic and worried than he had before. It made Merlin’s heart clench. “He’s— angry? Are you sure?”

“Maybe you should talk with him, Arthur,” Morgana suggested gently.

“I  _ would,”  _ Arthur exploded, hands tugging in his hair, pacing in circles, “if I knew where that half-wit  _ was!”  _

“Who are you yelling at?” Morgana asked, raising her brow. 

Arthur immediately lowered his voice and grumbled out an apology. Merlin rolled his eyes.  _ So you chastise him for raising his voice at you, but not for calling me a half-wit?  _

_ I’m a lady, Merlin. You can’t raise your voice at a lady. You, however,  _ are  _ a half-wit. _

_ Gee,  _ Merlin thought,  _ thanks. _

_ Always, darling. _

“Okay, sorry,” Arthur continued once he regained control of himself. “If either of you see him, can you just—”

“I’ll send him your way,” Morgana assured, and Gwen nodded in agreement.

***

In the morning, Merlin woke up early enough to bring Arthur his breakfast. He went to the kitchens after dressing and said hi to all of his regular people on the way. It felt good, this slice of normalcy.

The problem was it wasn’t normal for  _ other  _ people because he was dead for a year, so he ended up being late to Arthur’s chambers anyway. Way too many spilled breakfasts and tipped-over laundry baskets.

When he did arrive at Arthur’s chambers, hands full, he hesitated outside the door. He wasn’t even sure why. But it was time to stop being cowardly no matter what was waiting for him and face the music. He pushed the door open with his foot, being careful not to tip the tray, and he was getting ready to slam it on the table and yank open the curtains when he paused.

Arthur was sitting in his dining chair at the table, entire body leaned against the back and facing the door except for his head that was lolled to the side. He let out a quiet snore. Arthur was asleep.

He looked like he was waiting for him.

It didn’t even look like he’d changed his clothes from the night before. Merlin sighed. Apparently it had been a rough day for both of them.

Merlin tried to set down the tray as gently as possible, not wanting to startle his king, but as soon as the metal hit the table Arthur jerked awake anyway. “Merlin?” he asked groggily, eyes not yet fully open. 

“Yes,” Merlin nearly whispered back. “Breakfast, sire.”

“You’re back.” Arthur was more alert now, leaning forward in his chair as Merlin transferred everything from the tray to the table. His eyes blinked away sleep. “Where have you been?”

“Nowhere, sire,” he answered. All of this time and he still hadn’t managed to come up with an excuse as to where he was. He didn’t want to rat out Morgana and Gwen and Arthur already knew he wasn’t with Gaius, and therefore Hunith, so…

“Did you—” Arthur leaned forward further, his body almost completely laid out on the table in earnest, trying to make Merlin meet his eyes. “Did you go back? To the Druids?”

Merlin whipped his head up in surprise. He’d not been expecting that. “The druids?”

“Did you stay with  _ them  _ last night?” 

Merlin didn’t like the obvious disdain in his voice. He’d hate to think Arthur was reverting back to old ways. He had liked being open with this new Arthur. “No, Arthur, I didn’t. I don’t see why it matters where I was. I’m here now.” 

When he finished setting up the table, he took his tray and turned around, preparing to take it back to the kitchens and think up some excuse as to why he couldn’t look after Arthur today, when Arthur suddenly spoke up. “It matters,” he said.

“What?” Merlin asked. He turned his head just enough to see Arthur’s face. He looked haunted and angry. Merlin already knew that look would sit with him for the rest of the night. 

“It matters,” Arthur continues, “where you are. What you’re doing. It has always mattered.”

“Why?” he asked bitterly. “Because you think I’ve wasted all this time for some elaborate assassination plan? Because you and Elyan and Percival and whoever else thinks my magic is evil?”

Arthur was so quiet that Merlin had to turn around completely. He regretted it instantly. Arthur looked as if he’d been struck. Hard.

The ache of regret grew in his chest, all the way up his throat, restricting his speech. When Arthur spoke, it choked him.

“I grieved, Merlin. Do you get that? Do you understand?” Arthur, golden strands falling forward as he bowed his head, stoof. His chair screeched as it was shoved back. “I mourned you. I know I said things about you just being a servant— about how we could never be friends because I was a prince. But you have to know that I…”

Merlin dropped the tray. They listened to it clang on the floor, motionless. “Arthur…”

“You were gone in an instant and a year later, just like that, you’re back the same way. Do you have any idea what that was like? For gods sake, Camelot— the memorial—”

“Wait,” Merlin said, throwing a hand up. This was the first he’d heard of this. “Memorial? You had a memorial service for me?” 

He was half expecting Arthur to call him ridiculous and say he was talking about Uther’s memorial, except Arthur wasn’t looking at him. He only shook his head. “You  _ idiot _ ,” he choked. 

Arthur stormed out, eyes suspiciously glossy, leaving Merlin and his breakfast behind.

***

So, Merlin was in the wrong this time. He could acknowledge that. 

He walked around the castle grounds for a while, trying to clear his head. He didn’t know what to do. Where did they go from here? How did he even begin to make it up to Arthur? And why had he hosted a memorial service for his  _ servant?  _

“Merlin?” 

Merlin paused his aimless ambling to turn around, seeing Leon walking briskly towards him. “Are you okay? Arthur was looking for you yesterday.”

“I’m fine,” he said. Leon looked down at him with kind eyes, and he decided to just ask. “There’s something I heard just… around and I wanted to know if it was true.”

Leon raised a brow. “Okay…”

“Was there a memorial service for me?” Merlin was actually a little nervous. He would look so foolish if Leon said no and Arthur actually  _ had  _ meant Uther.

Leon smiled. “It was a beautiful ceremony,” he said. “Only the knights and your other close friends were there because, well, Uther never would’ve allowed it. But Arthur was determined. We went out to the forest. Actually…” Leon chuckled a little. “I hadn’t known… well, that Arthur could be so—” 

He paused, as if startling out of a memory. “Anyway, I helped him plan it. Gwaine spoke for you. Gwen tried, but she burst into tears before she could finish. It was…”

_ What? It was what? _

“...intimate,” Leon finished. Merlin blushed.

***

Merlin went back to being Arthur’s manservant as best he could, to which Arthur gave him sketchy looks but didn’t say anything. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that they were not going to talk about Arthur’s outburst and Merlin certainly wasn’t going to bring it up. 

He was starting to pick up that Arthur got stressed when he wasn’t aware of Merlin’s location for extended periods of time. This seemed fair, since Merlin was the same about Arthur when everyone and their mother was trying to assassinate him, but it still felt weird being the one watched out for.

Now that he didn’t have to lie anymore, he tried to let Arthur know where he was going to be when he wasn’t trailing after the king himself.

The whole castle was aware at this point that Merlin usually couldn’t stay quiet while he was doing chores. He liked to talk everyone’s ear off (especially Arthur’s) because it took his mind off of the horrible work he really didn’t want to do. So it should’ve been no surprise to Arthur when Merlin inquired about his lack of servant. 

“I do have a servant,” Arthur had answered. “You, apparently.”

“You know what I meant,” Merlin had countered. “Before—”

“I think you missed a spot, Merlin. Do pay attention.”

And all of their conversations went that way. Arthur was so hot and cold these days Merlin wasn’t sure how to act. He always avoided Merlin’s conversation. It was getting offensive. Asked about the servant, Arthur avoided the question. Asked about the lack of queen, Arthur avoided the question. Asked Arthur whether he wanted Merlin to give him a bath, he avoided the question! Unbelievable. He thought he had Arthur’s trust. He knew the king was a little upset, but that’s to be expected. He still felt trusted. 

Merlin sighed. Perhaps he wasn’t any closer to Arthur forgiving him.

After finishing his chores in Arthur’s chambers, he walked down to Gaius’s chambers. He was feeling frustrated and helpless and decided the person he really needed to talk to was his mother.

***

His mother didn’t do anything to ease his pain like had expected. He wanted to be coddled for once, dammit. And what did he get? A scolding! Unbelievable!

“Merlin,” Hunith admonished for the sixth time, “he’s still healing. He’s got quite a shock, and it wasn’t long ago that he lost that dreadful father of his. He’s struggling, darling, and he needs all the support he can get. Especially from you.”

Oh, like this was  _ his  _ fault? That was the whole damn point! Merlin shook his head. “I’m trying, Mum! He won’t let me support him!”

Gaius, who was making a potion next to the window, came over to Merlin and said, “Drink.” Merlin assumed it was a calming potion, so he drank. He would love to feel more in control right now. 

“You’re practically a physician yourself, now, Merlin,” Gaius said, one eyebrow raised. “You should know above all people that healing and recovery aren’t straight paths. Some days are good, some days send you right back to the beginning.”

***

“Merlin!” Gwen chirped. “How are you this morning?”

She looked beautiful in the sunlight. She was shifting Morgana’s laundry in her hands, probably due to the weight of it, and Merlin cast a little spell to make the basket levitate. Gwen beamed at him, her little brown curls coming into her eyes, and she was delighted to discover she could wipe them away now that her hands were free. 

“Why, thank you, Merlin,” she giggled. “That’s a handy trick for a servant.” Gwen took a serious look at Merlin this time. She must’ve seen the bags under his eyes because she asked, “Is everything okay, Merlin? Is Arthur doing alright?”

Merlin shook his head. He told her about the avoidance and occasionally out-of-character snide comments. And then about what Gaius and his mum had said.

“It’s hard for all of us, Merlin,” Gwen said gently. “You didn’t—” her voice cracked. “You didn’t see yourself up there.”

***

Arthur, of course, was still avoiding him days later and acting like an overall prat— but every now and then Merlin would catch Arthur doing something crazy, making insane demands or throwing things at him out of the blue. 

This time, as Merlin was restocking Arthur’s wardrobe with clean clothes, fresh from the laundry, he heard shuffling around in the bed behind him. Arthur wasn’t asleep yet, then. It almost surprised Merlin— it’d been a long day for the king, with two rounds of training and lots of subjects to see. 

There was more shuffling and Merlin absently wondered what he could possibly be doing that would warrant that much movement since he had already gotten Arthur ready for bed. Oh well. If Arthur wanted to shut him out these days, it wasn’t any of  _ his  _ business.

Although it was starting to get annoying.

Merlin turned around to ask if Arthur was comfortable enough but instead, to his surprise, was greeted with a candlestick to the head. Almost, anyway. Luckily his magic caught it so it was hovering squarely in front of his eyes. He glanced at Arthur, who seemed to be watching him closely.

Merlin shook his head, let out a sigh, and with a nod let the candlestick drift over to the bedside table. “Arthur,” he said fondly, “if you want to see my magic, all you have to do is ask.”

Arthur blushed. “I—” But he seemed to think better of what he was going to say, because instead of making up and excuse or denying it, he simply put his head down and snatched a tunic from Merlin’s hands. It was no use. Merlin could still see his crimson ears peeking out. 

“And you certainly don’t have to try to kill me to do it.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but had the decency to look sheepish. “Well? Come on. Let’s see it, sorcerer.”

“Have a seat.” He took his own seat on the edge, and Arthur crawled back into the bed like a little kid being promised a treat. He flopped down so his back was against the headboard and there was barely space between them, leaning forward so their faces were astoundingly close. Merlin found he couldn’t focus like this, Arthur’s eyes so close to his, sparkling like Avalon shores under the setting sun, deep and beautiful and mysterious. But he didn’t really need to focus, did he, on anything else but Arthur? He never had.

So he simply let go of his magic, letting his tethers of control slip, and when he opened his palm the dragon of the Pendragon royal crest flew out, gracefully, with a constellation of sparks dancing for them.

But Arthur barely acknowledged this display. “ _ Whoa,”  _ he breathed, amazed, staring not at the dragon but directly into Merlin’s glowing, golden eyes.

Merlin smiled nervously. He wasn’t sure what Arthur’s reaction would be to his changing eye color… it was one thing to have magic, but it was another for it to be ingrained in him biologically. Would Arthur think he was freakish?

Arthur touched Merlin’s face, wondering at the way it shone, laughing delightedly. “Beautiful,” he murmured. 

Merlin blushed. His heart was warming as quickly as his face.

“I— the dragon! He’s— beautiful,” Arthur quickly stammered, turning his attention abruptly to the red dragon still fluttering about, and now it was Arthur’s turn to blush. “It reminds me of something I saw the day of— you know.”

He glanced up, and Merlin raised his eyebrows.

“ _ Oh,”  _ breathed Arthur. His hand was still unknowingly caressing Merlin’s cheek and, wow, he wouldn’t be mad if they stayed like that forever. “Oh, gods, Merlin. I was the only one who’d seen it— thought I was going crazy, seeing a bird fly from the flames… like a phoenix rising. But it was you— I knew it was you, in some way. I just thought it was my imagination. Seeing what I wanted to see. Especially when you never flew back to Camelot.”

He sent a pointed look to Merlin who was about to say,  _ Sorry! Sorry  _ again! When he saw Arthur reach for the dragon. He could tell Arthur was surprised it held no heat, just an illusion, and the dragon promptly crawled up Arthur’s person, excited as a puppy, winding from his fingers to his neck until it finally rested on the joint that connected to his shoulder. It nuzzled him sweetly there, and the overjoyed smile on the king’s face was enough to melt Merlin from the inside out.

The dragon was, of course, simply a form of Merlin’s magic, an extension of his consciousness, but he tried not to think about that too hard.

“What else can you do?” Arthur asked, and the look he got… Merlin might have to excuse himself soon.

But Arthur was leaning forward, grinning, now almost nose-to-nose. “Your eyes are gold again,” he whispered, wonderstruck. And Merlin started to panic a little— he’d let go of his magic because he trusted Arthur, but it was also true that anytime Merlin had ever let go of his magic it turned out to have a mind of its own. And, apparently, it decided it liked Arthur. Very much. He could feel it humming with it.

Not that he could fault it.

Only he doesn’t know what it might do. 

He looked down over the edge of the bed when he felt something tickling their legs, only to find a bed of violets and burgundy roses blooming around them.

Both men stare at their feet. Then Arthur laughed, and kept laughing. 

“The most powerful sorcerer in history,” he joked, “and his display of power is growing a garden in my bedchamber.”

“I don’t know why it’s doing that, I—  _ it never does that.”  _ He hid his face in his hands. Of course his magic would find a way to embarrass him in front of someone they  _ both  _ liked.

Arthur leaned down and plucked a burgundy rose from its stem. “Hm,” he pondered. Merlin could not read the look on his face. Arthur set it carefully on his bedside table. “That will be all, Merlin.”

Merlin spluttered. “What?”

Arthur smiled and ruffled up his hair, leaving Merlin to grumble and smooth it back down again. “I don’t need you tonight.”

Merlin’s brows drew together. It seemed far too early to be dismissing him. Was he being hot and cold again? Arthur often didn’t seem like he was sure if he wanted to be angry and press all those unresolved feelings to the surface or if he was just happy Merlin was back. And in a way he was gratified in regards to Arthur’s relief— while he had been admittedly pining away for Arthur all those years, Arthur had never given any inclination that he appreciated him beyond the role of a manservant and an insight to the regular townspeople every now and again. 

But Arthur seemed to miss him, in his own Arthur way. Or at least as much as any prince or king could miss his manservant. Despite how many times Merlin saved his life, he always thought he needed Arthur more than Arthur needed him. 

“Arthur,” he started, trying to take the pleading out of his voice. “Don’t be ridiculous. Don’t you want the fireplace cleaned? Don’t you want a fire built? It’s chilly tonight.”

“It’s not needed tonight, Merlin. Go to your room. Get some rest.”

Heh. His room. Well… “I don’t actually have a room, sire.”

Arthur pauses. “What?”

“My mother took my room at Gaius’s. I don’t have anywhere to sleep tonight.”

Arthur lowered his head to his hand and rubbed his temples. “And what were you planning to do,  _ Mer _ lin? Bustle about, pretending to clean? Keeping me up while I’m trying to sleep?”

“Oi! I don’t  _ pretend  _ to clean!”

“Oh really? I wonder why the fireplace still isn’t cleaned out then?”

“You  _ told  _ me to  _ quit!”  _ Merlin huffed. He threw his hands in the air. This was outrageous. Outrageous!

“Honestly, Merlin,” he said as he pulled the covers over himself. “What were you thinking? Giving up your bed? If I’d known Hunith was in Camelot I would’ve given her her own room, like a proper guest.”

Merlin smiled. “I’m starting to think you like my mother more than me.” 

“Of course I do, Merlin. She’s like you, but with all the annoying bits taken out.” He paused, stilling in his bead for a moment. “I would like to see her. To apologize. I fear I… bothered her while you were gone.”

“Bothered her?” Merlin asked, but he didn’t seem inclined to say anymore on the subject. He only turned over so his back was to Merlin. “You’ll see her tomorrow, probably,” he added. “She’ll be running around town doing some errands for Gaius.”

“Is she going to be staying here permanently?”

“I’m not sure. I wasn’t expecting her to— she just said she needed to be certain you weren’t going to chop my head off before she let me live here by myself,” Merlin tried to joke. It must not have been very funny, because a dark look passed over Arthur’s face. 

“She thinks I would hurt you?”

Oh no. Merlin hesitated to answer. How could he explain this right? “Not necessarily, but— people surprise you all the time. I mean, just look at me. Your clumsy manservant, a prophesied sorcerer. Even the most just man could turn— you know, if he felt betrayed.”

“And so that’s what you think of me, then?” Arthur turned his head to the side so Merlin couldn’t see his face. “That’s why you didn’t tell me? You thought I would turn you in to my father?”

“I was mostly joking, Arthur.”

“Answer me.”

“I don’t know what you would have done,” Merlin said quietly. “Do you?”

But to that Arthur had no answer.

“And it didn’t really matter,” he continued. “I didn’t want to make you choose.”

At this Arthur turned completely away from him, one hand once again brought up to his face, covering his eyes and mouth. He turned back to Merlin abruptly, looking like he was in deep, deep pain. It made Merlin’s heart hurt.

“Merlin, you are still as much an enigma to me as the day I met you.” 

Merlin smiled. “Can’t imagine why,” he said. “I’m an open book.” After a long pause, he added, “And I still need a room.”

Arthur was back to his usual self, it seemed. He threw an extra pillow at Merlin’s head. “Good gods,  _ Mer _ lin, there’s nothing to prepare for you this soon.”

“Can’t I just stay here?” Merlin asked. He would be happy to sleep on the fur rugs or even on the floor if he got to keep the pillow Arthur just threw at him. 

Merlin rethought it at Arthur’s pale face. “Unless you don’t trust me.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, sinking back down in his covers. “It’s not that, it’s just… oh, fine, you absolute buffoon.” 

Merlin beamed at him, then took the pillow to the rug by the fireplace and placed it down. “What are you doing?” Arthur demanded to know.

“Uh… making my bed up for the night? Sire?”

“I see,” Arthur said, looking like he was in deep thought. Oh, gods. He was going to take the pillow away from him, wasn’t he?

But Arthur said nothing of the sort, just blew out his candles, and in the tentative silence they both lay down to rest. After several moments, Merlin hadn’t fallen asleep. He could still hear Arthur breathing and knew he was awake, and the idea that something (probably him) was troubling his king nagged at him.

“Oh, just come up here,” Arthur demanded, speaking too loudly in the quiet of the night. “There’s plenty of room, and if you sleep on the floor not only will you be completely useless tomorrow, but I’ll probably trip over you and then we’ll both be complaining and miserable.”

Okay, well, he made a point. Right? He wasn’t about to pass up a chance to sleep in that luxurious bed. Coming to a decision, he pulled himself up and grabbed the pillow. Since he was “dismissed”, there were things all over the floor anyway, making like an obstacle course in the dark. But his magic mapped out the room for him, and he found himself dodging everything with practiced balance.

When he got to the bed, Arthur gaped at him. “Did you learn to stop blundering about with the druids?”

Merlin pondered it for a moment. “Huh. No, we just—” He blushed. Arthur’s face morphed from shocked to curious. “Never mind. No, I think it’s because I’m not hiding my magic anymore.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s exhausting. To keep all of it locked tightly around yourself, all day every day… it’s like having this endless, huge ball of energy that’s fighting to burst, and it throws everything off, I guess. Gaius theorized it a long time ago, but the druids confirmed it when I let it loose. When I do, I can— I can feel every living thing, and the impact it has on nature. I can sense magical beings. I didn’t know I was able to do that, before. It’s an incredible feeling.”

“So you can’t… sense me.”

Merlin shook his head, crawling into bed beside his king. “Of course I can sense you, Arthur.” He pulled the blankets up to his chin and closed his eyes. 

“But I’m not magic.” Arthur sounded confused.

Merlin opened his eyes again and shifted his body. He looked at Arthur, tenderly, and a little like he was crazy. “Yes,” he said. “You are.”

***

In the middle of the night, Arthur swung an arm around Merlin, pulled him as close as possible against himself. He felt a tad guilty about this— what would Merlin say if he was awake? — but he was too physically and emotionally drained to care. 

This wasn’t his plan when he invited Merlin up into his bed—  _ his bed—  _ but. He needed this. He didn’t know what he’d do, right now, if he wasn’t allowed this, with Merlin sleeping right next to him.

Beautiful, hopeless boy, with eyes of molten gold. His nose scrunched like a child’s when he slept, and honestly, how could he resist? With his face buried in Merlin’s neck— his only protest a light snuffle, and then he was back to burrowing into Arthur in his sleep— he tried his best to fight off the nightmares that had been plaguing him for months. He grounded himself in the fact that Merlin was  _ here,  _ with him. He could feel his body pressed up against his, the same lanky thing that he loved. (With some added improvements, of course.) He smelled of violets and nature, like lemongrass and petrichor. 

In the quiet of the night, listening to Merlin’s even breaths, he couldn’t help but squeeze him, just a little. He placed a hand over Merlin’s heartbeat and let a tear slip out before he could stop it. Little by little, he let the image of Merlin on the pyre burn from his brain, at least for tonight. 

Instead, it’s replaced with Merlin, a  _ live  _ Merlin, with Arthur in the meadow, wrestling in the sunshine.


	7. Time Crawls On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old pain sheds a new light on Hunith and Arthur's fragile relationship, Gwaine has papa-bear energy, and there's a mystery council meeting?? Plus-- something's fishy about the bedrooms in this place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> First of all, I wanted to say thank you to the people leaving kudos and comments-- my heart jumps every time I see a message from one of you. I've had MAJOR writer's block the last two weeks and counting, so your kind words are really pushing me through.
> 
> Second of all, I'm going back to my second job now (I always work there on Sundays), so I'm going to try to write in advance and get as much out as I can so I can update with ease. Not sure how many of you care about writing schedules, but in case you do, just letting you know it might not be normal from now on. I might be updating twice a week at a certain point-- we shall see.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like this one! Please tell me what you think! *crying in desperation emoji*

There was something heavy pinning Merlin to the bed.

He tensed, taking shallow breaths, remembering how the guards strong-armed him to trial in the middle of the night. And then he looked down. He forced himself to slow down his breath. This was a year later, he reminded himself. There was no need to be afraid. He looked back up. Then he looked down again. 

He willed himself not to panic, although this was for a different reason.

It was Arthur’s arm. Arthur’s arm was what was pinning him to the royal mattress. 

Also, he was on the royal mattress.

It was getting increasingly probable that he was going to start panicking and losing his mind at any given second now. He tried to sit up, slowly as not to wake Arthur— not only was he a grump in the mornings, but Merlin was not ready to have this conversation with him, especially when it would most likely end with Merlin convincing Arthur he hadn’t enchanted him to show affection. Arthur started to stir, just slightly, his breaths still mercifully even, and Merlin looked at his sleeping form. His hair was tousled against the pillow, his face relaxed, his mouth slightly quirked up. Merlin wondered what he’d been dreaming about.

He looked so…  _ normal  _ like this. Merlin had woken him up nearly every day for four years. He knew what Arthur looked like when he was sleeping, shrouded in the sunlight peeking through the curtains, mouth twisted up and eyes squeezed shut, like even in his dreams he was fighting a battle. But it was different, waking up next to him. There was something precious to this. Something Merlin felt honoured to have been granted.

As carefully as he could, he lay back down, slipping under the covers so that Arthur’s arm was no longer over Merlin’s waist but his chest. Merlin was further away than before, to his disappointment. He must have moved over in his haste to figure out what was happening. He closed his eyes.

As if the adjustment had startled him, Arthur’s arm squeezed him tighter and flexed with unconscious purpose, sliding him right back to where he’d been in slumber: molded to Arthur.

He fell back asleep, thinking maybe he wasn’t really awake after all. Nothing so good ever happened to him without a price.

***

When Merlin woke again, Arthur was gone.

The curtains were still closed so the room seemed darker than it usually was, but birds were chirping animatedly outside, so he knew he’d slept well into the morning. He couldn’t believe Arthur let him. 

He wondered if Arthur saw the same thing he did when he woke up— if he had looked at his arm wrapped around his manservant and ran from his rooms, or if he’d rolled over in his sleep and woke looking at curtains and completely forgetting Merlin was there.

Either way, his stomach was grumbling something fierce. He had best get down to the kitchens before there are no more scraps for him to eat.

Merlin padded over to the fireplace where he’d set his shoes before bed and toed them back on. He looked towards the table, expecting to find dirty dishes from Arthur’s breakfast to pick up, but instead it was a tray full of food and a goblet of juice. His first thought was perhaps someone had brought Arthur food and he wasn’t hungry, but there was a note tucked under the corner of the tray. Merlin picked it up and read it.

_ Your lazy arse is going to wake up late, as usual, and by then all the food would’ve been gone.  _

_ Breakfast. You’re welcome. Eat. -A _

Merlin grinned. He hadn’t gone stingy, either. This was as much as Arthur usually got, himself, except maybe there were a couple extra sausages. It was a breakfast fit for a king. 

Merlin put his hands over the meal, closing his eyes and letting warmth seep out. It had been awhile since Arthur brought it, apparently, and it needed to be reheated.

He put his hands down and went for a sausage. Took a bite. It was absolutely delicious, the generous bastard. What was Merlin going to do with him?

***

Arthur was in a council meeting, according to Gwen. 

Merlin had run into her on her way to take Morgana’s dishes back to the kitchens— Morgana had a late meal as well, it seemed.

“Do you know what the council meeting is for?” he asked as he walked with her down the steps. 

Guinevere frowned, repositioning the tray on her hip as they descended. “No. Even more peculiar is when I asked Morgana, she wouldn’t tell me.” She turned her head, looking at Merlin with a knitted brow. “That’s quite strange… don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Merlin agreed. “Strange.”

***

With nothing pressing to do at the moment, Merlin decided to pay a visit to his mother.

Perhaps Arthur was ignoring him,  _ again,  _ and in that case there would be no point in sticking around to find out what happened anyway. If it was really important, he’d be hearing it from the servant gossip mill, anyway.

Merlin wasn’t even sure if Hunith was going to be in Gaius’s chambers, as Gaius himself was likely in this council meeting. But when he pushed open the creaky old door, there she was.

Poured over papers.  _ Weeping. _

“Mum?!” Merlin called, alarmed. He slammed the door and dashed to her seat. “Mum, are you alright? What’s the matter?”

She looked so small, like this, hunched over the table, hair up and head in her hands. It strangled his heart.

Hunith’s head snapped up at his entry. “Oh, I’m sorry, Merlin. It’s good to see you today. How are you? How’s Arthur?”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Good…” he said slowly. “He was asking to see you.” He decided it was best to switch the subject for now. He didn’t want to make her cry further, and she would talk when she was ready. She was a strong woman like that.

Hunith looked startled. “Oh. To see me? The King?”

Merlin smiled, rubbing a hand across her back when she sniffled. “You’ve met him before, Mum. He’s still Arthur. As much of a dollophead as ever.” He waited until she smiled and then, when he couldn’t wait any longer, asked, “What’s that you’re reading?”

“Oh… nothing, darling. Just something from… from when you were away.” She tried to tuck it away, but Merlin caught her wrist and looked at her pleadingly.

“Mum, tell me what’s wrong.”

So Hunith showed him.

They were letters.

From  _ Arthur. _

Arthur had sent his mother letters. Why had he done that? And what did they  _ say? _

Merlin picked them up and immediately started reading. He started out each letter asking if she was okay, if she needed anything, and ended every letter the same. The middle parts varied, but basically it summed up to this: He’s willing to grant her anything— even the very expensive furniture Merlin saw in Ealdor, apparently— he’s really sorry he couldn’t stop the execution and will never forgive himself, and if she needs anything to please let him know. It was sweet. It was heartbreaking. There were even scratched out words and sentences, like he didn’t word things exactly the way he wanted them to sound and needed a do-over; that more than anything was endearing to him. Oh, Arthur. He was not always as tough as he seemed.

There were parts that didn’t just make his heart ache; it made him nearly cry. Often, as if to prove he didn’t want Merlin to die, Arthur included some memories to tell Hunith about. He told her of jokes Merlin used to make, of the quests and adventures they found themselves on over the years. He told Hunith of his first meeting with a strange boy from out of town, who just had something about him. 

Merlin cringed reading some of the things he’d said to Arthur that first day. He always did have a habit of going into danger head-first— or as Arthur put it, “Courage now, consequences later”.

When Merlin finished, he plonked down to the bench next to his mother, not knowing what to do. He knew Arthur was sad when he died, and knew that he was still haunted from seeing a burning body. But he had no idea Arthur had… well, that he’d  _ missed  _ him like this. That he’d blame himself more than anyone else.

And from the way he’d talked about his life  _ without  _ Merlin… Arthur wasn’t just sad. He was… broken. Far more than he’d ever told Merlin when he returned. 

_ Do you get that? Do you understand? _

Yes. Now Merlin did.

“Did you ever reply?” he asked, setting the letters back down on the table.

Hunith didn’t answer for a long moment. Then, “No.”

“Why not?”

She hung her head, and Merlin immediately wanted to take his question back. All he did was hurt people these days. “I just… couldn’t,” she whispered. 

Merlin nodded, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Are you angry with him?”

Hunith shook her head. “No, of course not. I know what his position was.”

_ Okay,  _ Merlin thought.  _ Good. That’s a good start. _

“Arthur thinks you are, you know,” he continued hesitantly. He didn’t want to make it worse, but… he needed to clear this up. For Arthur.

Hunith nodded, like she’d been expecting it. “I’ll talk with him,” she promised, and squeezed his hand tight.

***

Arthur gave the knights the morning off. After what he woke up to… gods knew he needed it. Gwaine suggested since they had nothing else to do they meet in the tavern, but Lancelot wanted to spend time with Guinevere, Percival and Elyan said it was way too early (they were right), and Leon announced that someone should check on Morgana (with a dirty look at Arthur that would leave him feeling guilty all day).

He  _ did  _ have things to do, probably. But admittedly he was avoiding Merlin and he was not ready to speak with Morgana yet. Just as he’d not quite forgiven Lancelot for having been Merlin’s first confidant, he hadn’t managed to absolve Morgana of her crimes of visiting Merlin and not taking Arthur along.

It was shameful, he knew, but it was how he felt. And so the only reasonable option was to follow Gwaine to the tavern a mere hour after lunch. Gwaine was already there, of course. Arthur hadn’t announced he was going to come since he still had an image to protect, but when he did walk through the doors Gwaine didn’t look all that surprised to see him.

“Have a seat, Princess,” Gwaine hollered jovially, as if he lived here. (Maybe he did. Arthur had never seen where Gwaine slept, after all.) “What brings you here in the middle of the day? I assumed you’d be like all the other spoilsports. Not usually your scene, anyway. Unless Merls turned you down?”

Arthur sat straight like a rod, caught off guard. “Merlin didn’t  _ turn me down—”  _

“No? Just some good old-fashioned trouble in paradise?”

Arthur sighed. “No. I didn’t ask Merlin—” he stopped, seeing the look on Gwaine’s face and knowing explanations wouldn’t do any good here. “No. Just… something happened last night— before you ask, I’m not telling you what, because that’s between me and Merlin— but it’s making me… rethink everything.”

Gwaine nodded and took a gulp from his tankard. “He finally told you that you didn’t actually kill the dragon, huh?”

“ _ What?” _

“Oh. Oops.”

“But he told me I dealt it a mortal blow!”

Gwaine looked at him like he was the stupidest man alive. “Well, yeah, Princess. What was he supposed to say? He let it frolic off into the mountains?” He scoffed. He looked at Arthur and, seeing his scowl, continued. “Look, the only reason I know about this is because I asked Morgana and Lancelot to clue me in on some details. Something didn’t add up about the whole thing. About a lot of things, actually. I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

Arthur put his head in his hands. Was this supposed to be making him feel better? “So many things he never told me about.”

“You never asked.”

Arthur glared at him. “That’s not fair,” he said, even though it probably was. “How am I supposed to trust him completely? Not even my accomplishments are my own. I don’t know how to progress with him.”

Gwaine shrugged, like it was the simplest thing in the world to answer. “Forgive him.” They paused as people passed them to take their own seats, doing a double-take to see the King there, and when they were out of earshot he continued. “That’s all he wants, Arthur.”

“Well, how the hell am I supposed to do that?” he asked incredulously. “After everything, how can I just let him waltz back into my life?” 

Gwaine scooped up his tankard almost frantically, took another gulp, and set it down again so hard that this time ale sloshed out the sides. “Because he’s here!” he said, throwing his hands up. “Because he was dead, and now he’s here.”

Arthur looked at him carefully. He hadn’t known Gwaine felt so strongly about this. “You don’t feel angry at him? Or hurt?”

Gwaine smiled ruefully. “Princess, Merlin is my best friend. Of course I wished he would have told me everything. But I don’t often get second chances, and I’m not going to waste this one.” He thought for a moment, then tipped his head to the side, as if considering something. “Plus, if you weren’t so damn hard to keep alive, he wouldn’t have had to lie to you all the time. So, really, this is on you.”

“ _ Gwaine,”  _ Arthur growled. 

Gwaine grinned. “Talk to him, Arthur. Or you might lose him for good this time. Life’s too short to be angry.”

They sat in a comfortable silence, Gwaine sipping his ale and Arthur tapping his hands on the counter, until Gwaine broke it with, “But if you drive him away from  _ me,  _ too, I’ll—”

Arthur narrowed his eyes and immediately shot up straight. He could feel a gentle fire creep into his veins. His heart pounded loudly. It was starting to sound like “best friend” wasn’t something that accurately described the relationship between Gwaine and Merlin. If that was the case, he was going to need to order several tankards of whatever Gwaine was drinking.

“Threatening a king is treason, Gwaine,” he said darkly. 

Gwaine grinned wider. “Eh. Merlin will save me.”

***

Merlin ought to just use his magic to clean, now. Gaius had forbidden it before the ban was lifted for obvious reasons— and also because it’s an unspoken law to make your kid’s life as hard as possible for Character Building Purposes, as Healer Baldwin had explained to him once— but now the ban  _ was  _ lifted and he was a grown man now. More or less.

The thing is, this secret keeping thing has been so ingrained in him that he’s basically done with his chores before he even realizes it could’ve been done in half the time. 

If Arthur were here, he’d call Merlin an idiot.

If Arthur were here, Merlin wouldn’t be doing cleaning at all.

He’d try, certainly. He’d try his very hardest. But after the night before, and reading letters he sent to his mother— knowing the new furniture in Hunith’s house was an attempt to make her feel better, the best way Arthur knew how— it was too much. The more he thought about it the more he felt his heart grow out of his chest, and if Arthur were here right now, he was not sure what would be stopping him from jumping his bones.

Or maybe just kissing him.  _ Small steps, Merlin. You don’t want to get executed on purpose this time.  _

And then, because the gods hated him, Arthur walked in. 

Merlin didn’t even have time to prepare himself for what was about to come— the door simply burst open and Arthur strode right in, not even looking around the room long enough to see Merlin’s inner turmoil.

He wasn’t dressed in any kind of armour or protective gear, Merlin noticed, so that meant after council he didn’t train with the knights like Merlin had expected. Not many things could make Arthur derail pre-set plans, so he was now very curious as to what distracted Arthur so badly. “Mer—”

“Arth—”

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly and crossed his arms, looking at the newly-scrubbed floor. Unfortunately, the action brought attention to Arthur’s arms, and then he was gazing at the veins bulging against his skin and the clearly defined muscles there, and he was reminded of lying in bed with this man and feeling those arms pulling Merlin against him, and he thought maybe if they—

Arthur cleared his throat again, this time looking directly into Merlin’s eyes. Merlin had to struggle not to look away. “Go ahead,” he granted, nodding stiffly.

“I went to visit my mother today,” Merlin said, before he could think better of it. “Saw what you’ve been ‘bothering’ her with all this time.” 

Arthur pulled out the nearest chair from the table and plopped into it. “Oh, gods, she hates me, doesn’t she? I don’t blame her. I mean, I wasn’t in a good place when I sent those letters, and I never meant to—”

Merlin cut him off. He’d tortured himself enough. “Arthur, stop.” He did. And then an interesting thought occurred to him: “Why do you care so much about what my mother thinks of you?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but his foot tapped frantically on the floor. “Because she’s a good woman, and now she’s a citizen of Camelot. I always care about what my people think of me.”

“Uh huh…” It was true, at least to a degree. But this was next level. It was strange, even for a noble idiot like him. “Well, she doesn’t hate you, Arthur. She understands.” Tears burned in Merlin’s eyes, remembering the way Hunith broke down in his arms today, and imagining what she must’ve been going through this past year when he wasn’t there to comfort her.

The room stemmed into awkward silence again and Merlin decided it was time to just rip off the bandage. He cleared his throat. “Listen, about last night—” 

“Oh, yes,” Arthur interrupted. “Thank you, I nearly forgot. Not to worry, I went right ahead to the staff this morning and asked them to prepare a room for you.”

Merlin tried to hide the way his face fell. So that’s what he’d been up to first thing in the morning? Procuring a room for him so he’d never have have Merlin in his bed again?  _ I nearly forgot—  _ wow. What had he been thinking, about the kissing? They weren’t on the same page at all. Arthur wasn’t planning on jumping his bones, he was jumping ship.

“Oh? And where is this room?” he asked, thankful for all of his years of secrets allowing him to cover up his hurt. “Not in the stocks, is it?”

Arthur laughed softly. “No, Merlin, although you shouldn’t tempt me with that idea.” He stood up from the chair and tilted his head towards the door, as if to say  _ follow me,  _ and exited his chambers. 

When Merlin met him out in the hall, it was already clear he was walking to the other end of the corridor. “Um… Arthur?” he started. He wasn’t sure how to phrase the question without sounding offended or needy. “Where are we going?”

“Do you have a spell to fix your hearing,  _ Mer _ lin? I said we’re going to your chambers. The maids should be about finished now.”

“All the way down here?”

Arthur remained silent, marching ahead, several feet in front. 

“Right,” Merlin muttered.

When Arthur finally stopped walking, they were all the way at the end of the corridor. Merlin looked at him with his eyebrows raised, but Arthur was already reaching for the door, waiting to push Merlin inside.

_ This looks like Gaius’s,  _ he thought, stepping through,  _ but  _ grander. The bed was three times the size of his old one and much, much comfier. He could tell just from looking at it. Even the pillows looked fluffy, and there were several layers of thick wool blankets. “Wow,” Merlin joked, moving in awe to sit on the mattress. “Are you sure it’s warm enough? Where are the animal furs?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. He shuffled his feet. “I didn’t think you’d want them. You always complain when we go hunting. I thought you’d appreciate the room more if you weren’t sleeping on a bed of skinned animals every night.” 

Merlin scrunched his nose at the imagery. Truth be told, he’d be happier if this wasn’t a ploy to get rid of him, but as far as ploys go this one was pretty damn thoughtful. He beamed. “Arthur.”

“Shut up, Merlin,” he said, but Merlin could see him struggling to hide his smile. 

Out of the corner of his eye, something brown caught his attention. Brown leather— 

He swung his head around. The book! He rushed over to it lying on the nightstand. He’d missed consulting it over the past year— if felt like such an important part of his growth and journey that it’d been a shame not to take it with him. Plus, it would have helped loads with his healing. 

Oh, and the training— he’d only had a few spells to teach the druids when they asked. He flipped through it, uncaring of the smile that graced his face, and when he glanced up he found Arthur looking at him strangely.

He couldn’t tell what he was thinking. It was unnerving. He’d always been able to tell. “What?” he asked.

Arthur shook his head. “Nothing.”

He looked troubled, probably due to the blatant reminder of Merlin’s magic, and he deflated again. “Well, thank you for this, Arthur.”

Arthur nodded, smiling slightly. Their eyes met, and his eyes were the clearest blue. “You’re welcome,” he said, and left him to rest.

***

That night, Merlin couldn’t sleep. He was up late thinking about the druids, and how much he missed them. Amabel and Healer Baldwin, especially— but also Beatrice’s chaos, and Alban, who had given him a little piece of Arthur while he was away. All the farmers that had cared for him and given him food to eat, that reminded him of Ealdor and his mother. He had a brief thought of going to visit them soon, but didn’t want to leave Arthur and Camelot for the druids again so soon, when they all had just started thawing towards him. Perhaps, if he asked very, very nicely, with a hint of begging and Morgana’s influence, he could persuade Arthur to allow them a visit. 

Then his thoughts— his traitorous, traitorous thoughts— switched to Camelot and the people within. It would be very many hours of burning eyes and counting sheep until he could fall asleep again, feeling his heart twist with guilt, playing back all the suffering he had put his loved ones through. When he did manage it, guilt-ridden dreams of love and loss were waiting for him, a long and never-ending purgatory.

***

When he woke the next morning, something was different.

He sensed it immediately, but couldn’t place it— his nerves were tingling. Not in a  _ Danger!  _ way but a  _ Ooh, look what’s happening,  _ way. (Thank the gods. He didn’t know what he’d do if, on top of everything, they were in a magical war again.)

He tried to ignore the feeling for a while. He got up, got dressed— his wardrobe was filled with much nicer clothes than before, and he reminded himself to make time to talk to Arthur about that— and when he walked out into the hall, he realized his room seemed to be closer to the steps— and Arthur’s room— than he thought.

Perhaps in his dismay he’d over dramatized things in his head. Perhaps Arthur hadn’t banished him to the other side of the castle in his embarrassment at his sleep-self using Merlin for warmth.

Still… there was something peculiar about it.


	8. You Are a Brick Tied to Me, Dragging Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur meets the in-law (again). The lads play Truth or Drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone-- this is getting posted much later than i originally intended, so sorry about that. Lots and lots going on atm. And I apologize if this chapter is a bit lackluster; I'm struggling to push through writer's block. But if you liked it please let me know :))) y'all are the best.
> 
> ALSO! I NOW HAVE TWITTER! @rageynerd. I just created it, so not much is on it yet, but I'll be using it to discuss writer things, fanfic things, and chapter updates. I also have a tumblr acc of the same name, which is less focused on writing and is more so a mess of things i love *shrugs* Feel free to interact with me on either! :)
> 
> much love and thanks to azoth as always for being a wonderful beta. without further ado.

Arthur was sleeping. Or trying to, anyway, but it was made nearly impossible with all this clanging. What in the world was that, anyway? He hadn’t heard that sound for nearly—

Oh. His eyes flew open. After the horrible dreams he’d had last night, he’d almost forgotten. 

Merlin was bustling about his chambers, setting a breakfast tray down on the table, along with a glass accompanied with a jug of juice. He rushed to his wardrobe where he started to pull out some clothes, hastily, not bothering to ease the doors closed— the slam of them finally had Arthur sitting up.

“Honestly, Merlin.” He threw a pillow at Merlin’s head, and Merlin whipped around with a cheeky grin, still holding a tunic in his hand. “It’s a wonder you were ever able to sneak around here in the first place.”

“Ah, I was hoping you’d wake up, sire. Hurry up and get dressed. We’re already late.”

“ _ Late?” _ Arthur threw his covers off him in a huff. “Late for  _ what?” _

Merlin pulled out his blandest tunic and pants and set them out on the bed for him. “For visiting my mum.” 

Arthur was surprised into silence for a few minutes. Once his sleep-fogged brain could process what had just been said, he asked, “Your mum? We’re late? Oh gods, Merlin, can you be on time for anything? I’ve made a bad impression as it is, and when did we set this up? How come I didn’t know about it? And why haven’t I got something better to wear?”

He stopped when he realized Merlin was laughing so hard he was folded over, resting his forearms on the bed for support. He slapped him upside the head.

“Ow,” Merlin said through laughing breaths, “okay, sorry, but she’s my mother, not a queen. And I  _ am  _ trying to get you a good impression. I mean, not by being late—  _ get dressed—”  _ Arthur started pulling up his nightshirt. “But I’m having you wear these clothes because you’ll come off as more humble. Gods know you need it.” At Arthur’s dark look, Merlin shrugged. “She’ll find it endearing.”

“Do you really think I’ll need all this to get her to be in the same room as me?” Arthur asked, sullen. 

Merlin smiled a little and put a hand on his shoulder. “No, Arthur.” He squeezed, and Arthur felt a jolt to his heart. “I know she likes you. I’m trying to ease  _ your  _ mind.”

Arthur exhaled a big breath and finished changing, trying to ignore the feeling of eyes on him. At another time, it would be more than welcome; a time when he’d known he wasn’t able to act on anything, when Merlin was just his gangly servant, when he wasn’t in a rush to meet his  _ mother.  _

Now, it just made his already high pulse increase, and that was no good. If he got a heart attack from this and was even later to this meet-up, Arthur was going to be pissed.

***

They were only late by a few minutes which, for Merlin, was excellent time. 

As soon as Merlin knocked on the door, Hunith opened it. There was a small, gracious smile on her face. “Hello, boys. Come in.”

She stepped to the side, giving Merlin a kiss on the cheek as he passed, and Arthur didn’t really know what to do with himself. As they sat, he stood in the middle of the room. Was it too presumptuous to sit at the table? Did he look too intimidating looming over them like this?

Hunith hummed. “My apologies, Your Highness, I believe Merlin is rubbing off on me.” She stood to bow, and Arthur hastily put his hands out. 

“No! No! You don’t— need to do all that.” Now she thought he was just another pretentious royal.  _ Nice, Arthur. _

Merlin rolled his eyes, but there was a smile playing at his lips. “Geez, you two. Will you just have a seat, Arthur?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him, but it didn’t stick, because immediately he noticed the plate of food in front of him. His stomach grumbled. That’s what he got for letting Merlin set-up meetings without his consent. A breakfast-less morning and a cheeky servant.

“There’s a plate for you, too, Arthur,” Hunith said, nodding at the place next to Merlin. “If you’ll have it.”

Arthur immediately took his seat. Of course he’d have it. 

She leaned over to set a plate at his place and the homiest smells washed over him— of cooking, fresh herbs and spices, cloves and vetch— and just like that he felt a longing for a life that could’ve been if he’d run away with Merlin like he’d threatened so many times; if he’d started a farm, perhaps in Ealdor. 

He wondered what his mother would’ve smelled like.

The plate in front of him was more green than he would’ve expected, but he had to remind himself that although they were respected members of society, physicians like Gaius did not have access to the same meals as Arthur did. 

He realized he’d been staring at his plate for too long when Merlin kicked him under the table. He cursed himself— he’d intended to make a conscious effort to come off well, especially since he’d been way too obvious about his distaste for the gruel served in Ealdor. He glanced at Hunith. She said nothing, but she was smiling knowingly into her greens.

Well, here went nothing.

He brought a forkful of it to his mouth and chewed, and as he did… flavor exploded in his mouth. These chards and cabbages been transformed— the garlic and onions especially brought out the nice flavor. He was so pleasantly surprised he moaned in delight, and when he looked up, Merlin was smirking at him. He rolled his eyes but finished his plate with a remarkable speed.

“I was sorry I didn’t get to cook properly for you, last time. I’m afraid Ealdor is short on… well, most things, but Camelot is plentiful in ingredients. Thank you for letting me stay here and use them, My Lord,” Hunith said politely. 

Everyone was finishing up, so she stood to collect plates, and abruptly Arthur said, “Call me Arthur, please. You are welcome to stay here as long as you’d like. Although, I must tell you… Merlin faces no harm from me.” He’d stood up while he was talking, and now he was in the middle fo Gaius’s chambers once again, clenching his fists. He looked down and watched his hand make crescent moons on his skin. “But I understand why you may not trust in my protection.”

“Oh, Arthur.” Hunith dropped the dirty plates on Gaius’s table and rushed over to him. She grabbed his hands and pulled his nails from his skin, smoothing over the marks he made with her finger tips. “I’m ashamed of the way I acted. I know you care for my son very much.”

Arthur shifted his glance behind Hunith to Merlin’s old bedroom, which he supposed was now Hunith’s, and tried to ignore the feeling of Merlin’s eyes on him. He couldn’t look. If he did, Merlin would see just how much truth there was in that statement, and he wasn’t ready to confess that yet. 

“Hunith, I—”

Everyone startled as the door flew open. Merlin flinched back at the sound in a way Arthur had never remembered in the past. He hoped, naively, that it was just Merlin’s ability to startle easily.

Gwaine strutted in the room, eyes lighting when they hit Merlin’s face. Arthur narrowed his eyes. What did he want  _ now?  _

“Hey Merls!”

_ Merls. Merls? _

“Gwaine?” Merlin smiled confusedly and pushed up from his seat. “Everything alright?” 

Gwaine (unnecessarily) shook out his hair. “I was looking for you. Tried Arthur’s room since you practically live there—” Arthur made a small protest in his throat because  _ Hunith was right there  _ and she did not need to get the wrong idea— “and when you weren’t there I realized I have no idea where your new chambers are.” Gwaine looked at Arthur and winked. “Nice touch, by the way.”

Arthur looked at Merlin’s— Hunith’s— door again. Could he lock himself in there?

Merlin nervously ruffled a hand through his own hair— which gave it a tousled, bed-wrecked look that he had half a mind to make illegal— and smiled bashfully. “What do you need with me?” He tilted his head at Gwaine’s predatory smile. 

“Oh, you know—”

“THAT’S ENOUGH, GWAINE!” Arthur exploded. He looked around. Hunith and Merlin looked startled out of their skin, but Gwaine only looked smug. He coughed into his fist. “Mhm. I mean, we’re having a discussion here, so state your business and leave us.”

Gwaine’s smirk grew. “Very well, Sire. Merlin, I need you for something top secret. It will be dangerous, and highly treasonous.”

“Treasonous? I’m in!” Merlin said excitedly. He rushed over to Gwaine’s side and the knight threw an arm around his shoulders.

“Good, because this one is—”

Arthur squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I’m still the King, guys.” He shook his head. “Not that it seems to mean anything to you two.”

Hunith rubbed his shoulder. “Have fun, boys,” she laughed. “I would like some privacy for this conversation, anyway.”

Arthur looked up again—  _ privacy? _ — and saw Merlin looking at him for confirmation that it was okay to leave him alone. Arthur’s heart felt like it had been squished. He gave a small nod—  _ it’s okay Merlin, I can handle your mum, I’m simply terrified for my life—  _ and Merlin nodded back, escaping through the door with Gwaine shortly after. 

Arthur watched them go, and Hunith watched him, still rubbing his shoulder. “You’re a good man,” she said quietly. Arthur swung his head around to face hers. 

One could practically see the question mark above his head. He was sure of it. He was a good man? Where did that come from? And why would she say it, after everything they had been through?

“Arthur,” she said sweetly, guiding him to a seat, like she was caught between giving him a hug and admonishing him. “Look around this place, at the haven you have built for the people here. You’re an excellent ruler. And I’m so pleased to see the world as Merlin has seen it all along.”

Arthur’s heart jumped. He searched her eyes, just to make sure she wasn’t teasing him. “Merlin?”

Hunith laughed. “You must know what he thinks of you.” She touched her hand to his cheek. “I don’t think anyone in the world could measure up.”

Arthur leaned into the hand before he could stop himself. His heart would be squished to smithereens by the time this was over. He gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Including me.”

Hunith shook her head. “Merlin has always been the kind of person to look past what’s right in front of him and see what the world could become instead. You are no different. He will tell you differently, but I know my son. Merlin would have brought magic to Camelot without becoming your servant if he did not see you for the king— and the man— you would become upon that very first meeting.” She patted his leg. “It’s why I sent him back to Camelot after Kanen’s attack. I could see you needed each other.”

Arthur didn’t know what to say. This hadn’t been what he was expecting when he came down here— he’d imagined stony silence and hard looks and scathing comments. Instead he found a kind of comfort that had been foreign to him before but now felt so, so sweet.

“And now you must regret it, after what happened.”  _ I could see you needed each other.  _ What on Earth did Merlin need  _ him  _ for?

“No,” she said, not unkindly. “Mostly no. A mother will always wish she could have done something more for the safety of her child. But this was the journey Merlin needed to take, and if we are to move forward, we must accept the hard parts that come with that as well as the easy.”

Arthur nodded. She was right, of course. He could see the resemblance to her son quite clearly like this— Hunith possessed the same wisdom he often relied upon Merlin for. “Hunith… I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to make the situation more painful for you, and I shouldn’t have bothered you with all those letters and-and furniture and I know I didn’t even make a great impression the first time around so—”

Hunith laughed. Loudly. It shocked Arthur, because he had always seen her as a quiet and gentle sort of woman, but he knew this laugh. It was Merlin’s laugh, his “I can’t believe you’re being so ridiculous, this is hilarious” laugh.

“I’m tempted to tell you that you should never question yourself, that you should feel more self-assured in who you are and what you deserve,” she said. “But I won’t. I think that’s the thing that separates you from Uther.”

Arthur leaned back in shock.  _ Father? _

“There are many things, of course,” Hunith continued, rubbing his hand in a motherly sort of way. “But this one is so important. You’re a king, Arthur, and yet you do not hesitate to consider the possibility that perhaps you are wrong. You listen to the lower classes, no matter what the topic may be, or what their place is. You befriend your manservant. You bend over backwards to help anyone who may seek it.” 

Arthur stared at her. He was unable to say a word. It did not matter a bit to Hunith, who kept speaking despite his silence. 

“My point is, with every decision you make, with every day that passes— do not try to tell me this isn’t true, Your Highness, Merlin’s told me all of your stories— you ask yourself if you are a good man. It keeps you up at night, in a way it never had with Uther.” She returned her hand to his cheek. “I don’t look at you and see Merlin’s executioner, Arthur.” Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a tear leak out before he could calm himself, and Hunith wiped it up with her thumb.

Arthur took a few shaky breaths. “May I ask… why didn’t you answer?” The voice crack in his question made him cringe. He needed to keep it together. He couldn’t weep in front of Merlin’s mum.

Hunith sighed. “I’m afraid that I have no other excuse except that I am a cowardly woman and I couldn’t face you yet. I was never upset with you, but I didn’t want to take the chance that I would take my grief out on you, and if you were angry with Merlin, I-I just couldn’t handle it.”

Arthur swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I understand,” he said, and he did, but he just wished she had told him as much. It would have been one less thing to hate himself for.

***

“So?” Merlin asked after they left Gaius’s chambers. “What did you need to see me for?”

Gwaine shrugged nonchalantly, but Merlin could tell he was excited. “I know some of the knights were major di—”

“Gwaine—”

“Ahem. I know you were upset at how Elyan was a major— ass, sorry, I’m just gonna say it— and the others are on thin ice too, so I’ve arranged a little something.”

Merlin looked at him suspiciously as they descended the winding steps of the castle tower. “What is it?”

Gwaine gasped dramatically. “It’s a surprise! Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

The whole way to wherever they were going, Merlin couldn’t stop thinking about Arthur and his mother… despite appearances, Hunith could be an intimidating woman, and he wondered how Arthur was holding up. Also, Arthur comes off as an ass often to people who don’t know him— especially when he’s nervous. He didn’t want there to be any further misunderstandings…

Gwaine sighed, and even to Merlin’s ears, it sounded harsh. “Arthur’s a big boy, Merlin. Do you ever stop worrying about him?”

“Not really,” he answered. He didn’t hesitate, but there was something in Gwaine’s voice that made him question this. “Are you sure you’re okay? With everything?”

Gwaine sent him a winning smile. It made 2nd place, at best. His heart wasn’t in it. “Of course, Merls, why wouldn’t I be? You’re back, everything’s good… nothing to be upset about.”

Merlin chuckled. “So you aren’t mad that I never said anything to you? About my magic or leaving?”

He could feel Gwaine tense next to him. Guards and servants passed by for a minute or so, and then Gwaine relaxed, running a hand through his hair. “I just can’t believe I had to babysit the Princess for nothing.”

Merlin barked out a surprised laugh. “Thanks. Trust me, I know the difficulties.”

***

Merlin knew he shouldn’t have been surprised to end up in the dungeons, and yet, here he was.

He and Gwaine were standing at the table at the bottom of the stairs, the one the guards played games on to pass the time during the night. Leon, Lancelot, Percival, and Elyan were standing there, waiting for them, and behind them… was that  _ ale?  _

“Where are the guards?” Merlin asked them. He looked around.

Leon smiled. “We’ve sent them on their way. For the time being, we will be taking over their duties.”

Gwaine grinned mischievously. “At least, that’s what we’re saying if anyone asks.”

Leon frowned. “No, Gwaine, we’re—”

“He knows,” Percival grumbled, staring at the ceiling in exasperation.

Merlin ignored them and looked to Elyan, who would only look him in the eye to glare. His heart sank. This would be no fun at all. 

Gwaine clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Alright, lads, welcome to  _ Get to Know Merlin!  _ Since everyone was such a tool the first time around, I thought it would be fun to ditch our responsibilities and play a game—”

Leon rubbed his brows. “For the last time, Gwaine, we’re not ditching our responsibilities—”

Gwaine waved a hand. “But before we get started, Elyan’s going to remove the gigantic stick from his ass, and we’re all going to be on good terms. Yes?”

Elyan scowled. The other men took a seat at the table, not seeming overly concerned when they saw him take a step forward. “I don’t see why we have to get along. What does his feelings matter to me? He never cared about ours.”

Merlin recoiled. “You know that’s not true.” Didn’t he? Was that what they thought, that he wanted to leave them? They were the best friends he ever had, aside from Will. He thought of them all the time while he was away.

Gwaine reached for the ale. “Now, now, Elyan. What did I say about that stick?”

Percival shook his head, crossing his sleeveless arms and slumping in his chair. “You don’t have to like him, Elyan, you just have to stop trying to kill him.”

Lancelot, Leon, and Gwaine all barked out a laugh. “What?” Merlin asked, genuinely confused. What was so funny? And he’d appreciate it if he  _ did  _ like Merlin, thank you very much. Merlin kicked the floor. “He’s right. I mean, I’d like to be civil, but you don’t owe me anything.”

Leon stared at him with his mouth still open from laughing. He looked taken aback. “Wait, you don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?”

“Oh yeah,” Percival muttered to himself. “I forgot.”

Lancelot chuckled. He was seated between Leon and Percival, leaning over to set a cup in each person’s place. “Merlin, do you remember Sir Aglovale?”

Merlin thought for a moment. The name seemed familiar… he remembered Arthur ranting about him several nights in a row, but he couldn’t recall what, if he’d ever known. It was so long ago now. “Sir Aglovale? Yes… wasn’t he the knight who Arthur dismissed for not honoring the knight’s code?” Merlin had always figured he was uncouth, probably to a lady, or maybe he didn’t cover one of the other knights. Arthur would never tell him what it was, but he was always very adamant that his men were able to rely on each other. It was the first time he’d ever heard of a knight being dismissed for other reasons than breaking the law, though.

Leon smiled. “If that were the whole truth, Gwaine would’ve been dismissed nearly immediately.”

“Hey!” Gwaine called out in protest. He gestured for Merlin to take the seat next to him, and when he did, Gwaine turned his body to face Merlin’s. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell you. Aglovale kept making fun of you behind your back, and it pissed Arthur off.”

“You guys make fun of me to my face.”

Lancelot reached over and ruffled Merlin’s hair. “It’s different with us, Merlin. We make fun of you because we like you.”

“I’m failing to see the difference here.”

“Anyway, we’re getting off-track,” Leon said, sternly, lifting a hand up in a gesture that said  _ Stop talking.  _ “The point is, we need Elyan to get along with you, for the sake of our team. And Elyan’s life.”

Elyan scowled. He leaned across the table, hands planted on either side of the ale pitchers, and he was so uncomfortably close Merlin was afraid the sweat would drip off of his brow and into Merlin’s glass. 

_ Ew. _

“You want to know why I’m mad at you?” 

Merlin nodded, but he was really thinking  _ no, I don’t want to know at all.  _

And then Elyan’s whole face changed. He went from completely dangerous to completely… deflated. He retreated to his seat and poured himself a drink. “You broke my sister,” he said.

It had gone uncomfortably quiet in this room. All the men stilled, except for Gwaine, who took a hefty gulp of his ale. “Gwen?” Merlin asked, a question that wasn’t really a question. “ _ Guinevere?”  _

There was a pained, pinched up expression on Elyan’s face. Even Lancelot looked away— whatever happened, it must’ve been bad.

“You know I had to comfort her? When you died? She cried herself to sleep, every night, for months. And now I find out that you’re alive? That she suffered for nothing? Do you know how hard it was to recover after our dad died— and now she had to deal with this?” Elyan sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. “So, yeah, you’ll have to do better than an apology and a grand entrance.”

After that, Merlin didn’t really know what to say, so he just sank into his own depression and let the awkward silence drift. He was used to awkward silences— the druids often didn’t know what to say to him, being so caught up in his identity as “Emrys”, and he and Arthur hadn’t hit it off well at  _ all  _ at first, so he’d had to endure them then. 

After a while, Gwaine simply couldn’t take it anymore. “We’re getting drunk, lads, I’m making this a drinking game,” he declared, pouring servings for everyone.

The knights all groaned. “It’s 10am,” Merlin reminded him.

“A bunch of pansies you are! What’s the point of drinking ale if you’re not going to get plastered from it?!” He slammed his fist on the table, looking around at everyone incredulously. “Come on, guys, don’t you want to get to know good ole Merls here?”

Elyan, with a challenge in his eyes, said, “No, you know what? It’s totally fine. I’d feel much better if Merlin was drunk for this anyway. Maybe then he’d be more truthful. From what I remember, you were a bit of a lightweight before. Is that still true, Emrys?”

Merlin couldn’t stop his face from falling. He hadn’t expected Elyan to be thrilled with this, or men their crumbled bridges so quickly, but somehow it still stunned him that he’d throw his magic title in his face like that.

He caught Lancelot’s eyes, who nodded at him in reassurance, before taking a swig of the ale. It tasted bitter on his tongue.

Gwaine sighed. “Can’t you get over yourself for two minutes?”

“Nope,” Elyan said.

Merlin stood from his seat. “Listen— thanks, Gwaine, but I’m not sure this was such a good idea.”

“No, no,” Leon reassured Merlin hastily, reaching forward to pull him back down by the arms. “I, for one, would like to get to know the real Merlin. Especially if you’re going to be sticking around for a while. We knights like to know who’s within our borders,” he joked. He kicked Percival under the table, who let out a yelp.

He reached down and rubbed his shin with a scowl on his face. “Yes, yes, please stay.” He said it sarcastically at first, still annoyed at Leon, and then once his face cleared gave Merlin a single nod.

Merlin cracked a smile. His voice was a bit shaky. “I’m still the same me I always have been. I’m just… maybe a little more… adventurous than you originally thought.”

Gwaine tossed his head back with a loud laugh, and at that moment Merlin knew he made a mistake. He sobered, then leered at him. “Is that so?”

Merlin shoved his shoulder. The knights laughed heartily. “Piss off,” he said.

***

The game was Truth or Drink.

Truth be told, Merlin was a little worried since he never  _ actually  _ spent that much time in the tavern, and he didn’t care for the taste of ale besides. He could just answer the questions… except they were playing with Gwaine, so it was an unspoken understanding that they’d all be drinking whether they told the truth or not.

He wanted to be open and honest, but the truth was this could go one of three ways.  _ 1.) Indifferent, unimpressed, uninterested. 2.) Overly, embarrassingly worshipful. 3.) Loathing. _

He wasn’t a fan of any of those options. He liked to be appreciated, so he didn’t necessarily want their indifference. Of course he would never be able to handle the loathing of his friends, if the way he was handling Elyan was anything to go by. 

As for the worshipping… he had enough of that with the druids, thank you very much. He had never sought glory, even now, for the simple fact that he was no longer proud of everything he’d done.

Some things were too horrible to receive any kind of praise for, no matter the benefits.

So far there’d been a lot of yelling ( _ Merlin, you absolute FOOL, you used your magic to forge Lancelot’s nobility papers?!)  _ and questions ( _ Can you time travel? No? Why not?),  _ and then somewhere part-way through the game, Percival drunkenly let out that Arthur had been going to visit the druid girl.

Merlin couldn’t comprehend it at first— the druid girl? What druid girl? Was it anyone he knew? — and then he saw the look on Percival’s face, like he’d just let out a most important secret, and he knew. They were talking about the girl who ratted him out to Uther.

“He… visited her? What for?” Merlin asked, taking another gulp of ale. The room was already starting to get hazy.

Percival smiled nervously. “He wanted information from her— Celestina, I think her name was— on you.” He pouted, drumming his fingers on the table. “Never told anyone what he’d found out, though.”

“Secretive bastard,” Elyan muttered. Seated there next to Percival, he looked inexplicably small. Hardly drunk at all. “It’s like he was keeping you all to himself.”

“ _ Again,”  _ chimed in Lancelot with a chuckle.

Everyone dissolved into laughter but Merlin. Poor Celestina, to be locked up and interrogated like that— 

“Where is she now?” he asked.

Leon raised an eyebrow. “No idea. Arthur released her after the ban was lifted, since Uther was gone, then.”

Merlin nodded solemnly. It wasn’t the best outcome, but it would have to do. “Good.”

Elyan tilted his head as he looked at Merlin’s red and glossy eyes. He leaned forward in earnest so that the table creaked. “Good?” he asked. “She betrayed you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Ah, so this was it then. Merlin was wondering when it would be coming— this confrontation Elyan so desperately seemed to want from him. The insatiable need to make him a villain. Well, he could villainize Merlin all he wanted, but there would be no harming Celestina because of her decisions made under extreme duress and self-preservation. If he wanted to use this analogy of all things, then so be it. “Yeah,” Merlin said coolly. “It means that she was young and scared and thought she was going to die, so she did the only thing she could think of to keep herself alive.”

They weren’t just talking about Celestina, and judging by the way all of the knights at the table seemed to stop breathing, they knew it.

Slowly, Elyan nodded, like he understood. “When you put it like that… I guess I understand that.” He laughed humorlessly and shook his head. “I guess I forgot for a moment that this is the same man who cried on hunting trips.”

The table laughed and Merlin, still tipsy, pouted, swaying slightly. “Whoa there, Merlin,” Gwaine said. He chuckled and used a hand to steady him. 

Merlin felt someone staring, and he lifted his head to look them in the eye and say  _ I’m fine, I’m not a lightweight  _ you’re  _ a lightweight,  _ when he landed on Percival. Percival smiled slowly, like he had just made up his mind about something. “I trust him,” he said to the rest of the men. “I mean, if he were going to hurt us, it would’ve been that time we’d teased him about his ears so bad that he wore super bright, weirdly patterned neckerchiefs as a distraction for a week. Arthur finally couldn’t take it anymore and rounded us up to apologize, remember?”

Merlin rolled his eyes and ducked his head (trying to hide his ears— he really was sensitive about that). His face heated, but he couldn’t tell if that was from the ale or the attention.

“Hey, don’t upset him again,” Gwaine admonished, “or this time around the lecture from Arthur will be worse. And might involve some bruises.”

“Sorry, Merlin,” Percival said with a cheeky smile. He leaned over to ruffle Merlin’s hair, and when he raised his head again, Elyan was smiling.

***

Gwaine tried to walk Merlin back to his door, but unfortunately he wasn’t feeling particularly cooperative right about now. He wasn’t feeling much of anything— just tired and dizzy. He didn’t have the strength to answer questions. He just wanted to take a nice, long nap. 

When Gwaine, shouldering him up the stairs, had asked where Merlin’s new rooms were, Merlin had mumbled something along the lines of “Arthur’s wing” and promptly resumed lolling his head on Gwaine’s shoulder. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine grunted, shifting to shoulder more of Merlin’s deadweight body. “We’re by Arthur’s chambers now. Which room?”

Well, that was a good question. “End?”

“The room on the end?” Gwaine dragged him down the hallway and checked the rooms on the left and right side. Neither were his. In fact, they had walked in on a baron taking a bath, but no one needed to know about that for the time being.

Gwaine set Merlin up against the wall and took a breath. “How do you not know where your own chambers are?”

Merlin blinked slowly. “I don’t know. It keeps switching on me.” He rolled over so his hands were perched on the wall, forehead resting there as he took a breath. The room was really starting to spin now. He really, really wanted a nap.

“Gwaine?” 

Arthur was standing on the other side of the corridor, about to enter his chambers by the looks of things. Merlin heard the clack of his boots as his footsteps approached, and he closed his eyes, preparing himself for the lecture on what a useless manservant he was.

***

Was that… was that  _ Merlin,  _ looking lifeless like that?  _ Gwaine,  _ he thought,  _ you dirty bastard.  _ He marched over to where they were standing quickly. Gwaine had stepped towards Merlin while Arthur was making his way over, pulling him off the wall and into his arms.

“ _ What the hell are you doing?”  _ Arthur growled when he reached them, taking in the sight of an incapacitated Merlin draped across Gwaine’s body, Gwaine’s hand awfully close to the waistband of Merlin’s pants, resting on a piece of exposed skin.

Gods, Merlin could barely open his eyes. What had Gwaine done to him?

Gwaine smiled sheepishly. “We had a little get-to-know-Merlin fest with the lads. Turns out Merlin wasn’t faking it about being a lightweight. On the brightside, Elyan’s no longer challenging Merlin to a duel every time he walks in a room, so, small victories, am I right?”

Arthur scowled. It  _ was  _ a small victory, one that he was grateful for, because frankly he did not want to deal with this for one more day. But Gwaine was still being— inappropriate— with Merlin, so he couldn’t find it in himself to be that happy about it. “I suggest you stop messing around and go sober up with the boys. There  _ will  _ be  _ extensive  _ practice later.” He accentuated his statement with a glare. He didn’t care if it was childish. This was his- his manservant and he had a duty to protect him and— 

Gwaine sighed heavily and with amusement. “Fine. Let me just take Merlin to his room, and—”

“No!” Arthur cried. Too quickly, if Gwaine  _ and  _ Merlin’s (drunkenly) raised eyebrows were anything to go by. “I mean, you need to get started. Practice will be soon. I’ll do it. Gods, Gwaine, it’s not even mid-afternoon yet.”

Gwaine smirked.

“Oh, shut up,” Arthur said, but he could feel his ears getting hot. “Do you even know which room is his?”

“Touche.” Gwaine dumps Merlin in Arthur’s arms with a salute and heads for the staircase.

He caught Merlin awkwardly, legs tangled together and hands holding his weight disproportionately. It took a minute for him to adjust, and he breathed out a laugh. Of course, as if he didn’t fuck up enough, he just  _ had  _ to offer to carry Merlin to his bedroom.

He looked down at Merlin now, at his disheveled hair across his forehead, deep blue eyes blinking blearily, as if in slow motion. His face rested on his shoulder, just shy of the crook of his neck, and Arthur couldn’t help petting his hair affectionately when he felt Merlin’s slow breaths on his neck. He just hoped Merlin was gone enough to not remember when he woke up. 

But of course, he had already established that the universe hated him. Merlin’s lips were nearly puckered and, really now, was this necessary?

He could do nothing for it but bear this feeling, scooping Merlin up into his arms. He tried to enter the room that he gave Merlin but… how peculiar. This was the one he’d given him, right? He made sure it was the very last one. After the night they’d shared, it was not safe to be in close proximity with Merlin during the night. 

After checking about six rooms (six!) he finally found the one. By this point, Merlin was fast asleep, nose pressed into the crook of his neck, snoring lightly. Arthur smiled as he walked in, kicking past the clothes on the floor—  _ really, Merlin, you have magic and you still can’t figure out how to put things in a cupboard? —  _ and lay him down on the bed. 

Merlin immediately flipped onto his stomach, scrunching the pillow to himself and kicking out the blankets. Arthur pulled off his shoes and lifted the blankets for him to get underneath. 

It was such a basic gesture. It was such an intimate one.

Merlin snuffled in the pillow and let out a sigh of content. “ _ Arthur,”  _ he mumbled.

Yes. What an absolute, absolute fool he was.


	9. Here Comes This Rising Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin attempts to find out why his magic is playing Musical Doors. Arthur is a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!!! 
> 
> It's a tough time right now, so I hope everyone's staying safe (there are links on my twitter page to petition and donation sites!). 
> 
> I'm sorry that this chapter is a little shorter than usual; I'm having a medical issue that's affecting my breathing, and it's making it hard to focus. I'm sorry if the quality is down for that reason, too. I hope it isn't, but please let me know if you liked it!!! I know things feel like they're slowing down, but there's a bit to go yet :) 
> 
> Thank you for reading. Love you muchly.

When Merlin woke up, it was nearly evening. He couldn’t believe he’d missed so much of the day— what was Arthur going to say? This time he really  _ had  _ spent his missing hours in the tavern. On one hand, he wanted to kill Gwaine for letting him get this drunk and wasting half the day away; on the other, he was very grateful to him. Without Gwaine’s meddling, Elyan never would have forgiven him.

And he was pretty sure Elyan had.

Merlin freshened himself up as much as he could considering his growing wooziness and his rush to make up for his lost hours. He exited his chambers, intending to find Arthur and clue him in to exactly why he’d—  _ oh gods,  _ Merlin had a vague memory of Arthur putting him to bed, and frankly he wouldn’t mind if he dropped dead right now.

But… wait. No sooner had he stepped out of his chambers did he realize he was in front of Arthur’s. No, that couldn’t be right. He couldn’t have teleported without knowing it, right? His magic didn’t work like that. It needed intent.

Well, it usually needed intent. Lately it’d been doing whatever the hell it saw fit, like making dragons and growing flowers. And…

_ And moving doors around. _

Merlin checked the door right next to Arthur’s and, surprise surprise, it was Merlin’s room. His chambers had magically shifted again. He hadn’t been sure the first time, but now he vaguely remembered telling Gwaine that he had no idea where his room was. At first he’d have sworn Arthur gave him the last one at the end of the corridor, and then it had moved a few doors down the next day— he’d thought maybe his memory of the night before was mistaken at the time, but now he realized he shouldn’t have dismissed it. This was his magic’s doing.

Which meant something was wrong.

He sighed and closed his eyes, holding out a hand to move everything back in their original place. When he was finished, he checked the rooms again. It was like he’d never performed a spell at all. But how could that be? He had the intent. Was his magic not working?

Merlin opened up his hand and conjured a ball of fire. Nope, that seemed to be working fine. What had Gaius said, when he was still learning to control his powers? Saying spells helped to direct his energy into completing particular tasks. Okay, so all he needed was a spell to move things around, Preferably before Arthur saw this. There was no way Arthur knew that this was going on, or he definitely would have called Merlin a pervert by now. He just needed to grab his book and then see Gaius and boom. He’d fix the problem. He could do that, right?

***

Alright, so, he couldn’t do that. He tried, but Gaius didn’t have anything for him. ( _ Seriously? In all your years, in that huge book, there isn’t a single spell for when your magic is playing Musical Doors?)  _

Gaius had made him do a bunch of tests that all pretty much indicated nothing was wrong with his magic. Then Gaius performed a physician’s test to determine whether sickness had anything to do with it (he was still feeling woozy, after all, but this was to be suspected after getting drunk first thing in the morning). Apparently he was fit as a fiddle, and unfortunately he was running out of time to fix this before Arthur came back from wherever he was. Gaius had said something about Arthur going into town to see how the people were doing for himself.

Merlin smiled. He knew Arthur used to make his rounds as the Crown Prince, but the King was never expected to go into Lower Town without very good reason. Merlin felt a rush of pride swell for him.

The only problem, Merlin thought as he climbed the stairs to his and Arthur’s chambers, was that Gaius said he’d been gone for a while. Which, judging by the amount of times Merlin had accompanied Arthur on these visits, meant he would be walking up these very steps any minute now. 

When Merlin reached the top, he stepped closer to Arthur’s chamber doors and held out his hand one more time. “ _ Lӕl duru—” _

“Merlin? What on  _ earth  _ are you doing?”

Merlin whipped around to find Arthur climbing the stairs slowly, cautiously, with a puzzled look on his face. And then something hit him: immediately his face twisted up, his shoulders raised and tensed, and he put a hand on his hip, ready to draw his sword.

Merlin forced himself to remain calm.  _ It was a misunderstanding the last time. It was a misunderstanding. _

“Is there an attacker?” Arthur asked seriously, in hushed and urgent tones.

_ Oh,  _ Merlin thought, relieved despite his conviction.  _ It’s a misunderstanding now, too. _

“No,” Merlin said, rolling his eyes to cover his momentary worry and pushing Arthur’s hand away from the hilt.

Arthur used the other one to smack him lightly upside the head. “Then why are you trying to enchant my bedchambers?”

Merlin tried his hardest not to blush. Failure was likely. And before he could completely think it through, he quipped, “I’m enchanting  _ my  _ chambers— not everything is about you, you know.” 

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. Merlin hid his gaze to keep from heightening his embarrassment. “Eh,” Arthur considered, smirking and tilting his head to the side. “Most things are. Besides, as King, I demand you answer some questions. First, why are you enchanting your own room? Second, why are you standing in front of mine to do it?”

Merlin huffed. He did not have the energy to deal with this after today. “I’m standing in front of mine. Please keep up.” At Arthur’s dry look, he added, “Okay, listen. For some reason, ever since you’ve given me a room on this floor, I’ve been waking up to find it closer and closer to yours.” 

Arthur let out a startled cough, and Merlin corrected himself halfheartedly. “Or the stairs, or whatever,” he mumbled.

Merlin expected Arthur to make fun of him ruthlessly— maybe even bring up the time they shared a bed, which seemed like it happened an hour ago and forever ago at once. Instead, he only stared bewildered at the doors. 

To fill the awkward silence, Merlin cleared his throat and said, “I’d like to visit the druids, Arthur. Something is wrong with my magic. I don’t know why it’s been acting up lately…”

“Very well,” Arthur agreed. He had the expression on his face that said  _ Don’t bother arguing with me, I won’t change my mind.  _ “We shall invite them here to consult with you.”

Invite them  _ here?  _ To Camelot? “Arthur—”

“But consider, in the meantime,” Arthur continued, as if he hadn’t spoken, leaning unnaturally close to Merlin’s face. He grinned like the cat who’d got the cream. “Maybe it’s trying to tell you something.”

Then Arthur, like the bastard he was, walked straight into his chambers and didn’t look back, leaving Merlin standing outside, alone, on the brink of heart failure.

***

_ That was too risky,  _ Arthur thought. That was too risky, right? He shouldn’t have said that. He was making an effort towards completely forgiving Merlin for leaving him— for not trusting him— he really was. But he wasn’t trying to make  _ that  _ kind of effort. Not at the moment, anyway—

Arthur sighed and turned abruptly, attempting to cut off his thoughts. The problem, clearly, was that in his private moments he had allowed himself to…  _ imagine  _ far too much. He’d spent many months after Merlin’s death wishing he would have done a number of things. Wishing he would have acted on feelings he was too cowardly to recognize while he was still alive and well.

And now that he was here, with his golden eyes, switching doors and growing flowers in his bedchambers… he couldn’t bring himself to seriously follow through with anything. 

Because the fact of the matter was Arthur didn’t deserve him. And Merlin didn’t deserve someone like Arthur.

Merlin deserved someone who wasn’t still broken and haunted after so long— who could pull himself together and be the great warrior he claimed to be. Someone who could show actual affection instead of just slapping around in horseplay, hoping the other got the message.

Merlin deserved someone who saved him in the end.

And yet, Arthur was a selfish, selfish man. Because he couldn’t completely walk away, even if he knew Merlin would be better off living a happy, peaceful life with the druids, being worshipped like he always should have been. For gods’ sake, he was terrified of even letting Merlin go back to consult with them. What if he never came back? He was able to save himself the last time, but what if something really did happen to him? What if Merlin left, and then Arthur woke up one morning and realized he never really came back at all, that it wasn’t real, simply a torturous dream?

Merlin seemed to like being here, in any case. He never did know what was good for him. 

Arthur forcibly stopped himself from scuffing the floor with his boot like a little boy.  _ You’re an adult,  _ he reminded himself. But why was it only when he was around Merlin— or thinking about him— that he needed to tell himself that?

He looked up from the floor, maybe hoping to find something productive to do, when he caught a glimpse of a door. A door he was certain was not there before.

How interesting.

Not only had Merlin unintentionally moved their rooms side-by-side, but he’d also created a bridge between the two that Arthur was free to walk at any time.

That was dangerous information.

Not that he’d act on anything inappropriate, unwelcome, or both— he was a knight, as well, after all, and as far as he was concerned chivalry codes certainly applied to Merlin— but he didn’t want Merlin to feel… obligated, in a sense, to respond to his attentions. Not that there were any. Just… theoretically.

The dangerous part was that while he was a king, he was also a man, and having Merlin gone for so long and then suddenly return had made all of his feelings he’d ignored for five years hit him all at once. It was overwhelming, and he couldn’t seem to shake it.

At the moment, he really, really wanted to go through that door. He’d only been in Merlin’s room once or twice, back when he used to live with Gaius, and it had been simple. They couldn’t afford decor, after all, and it was ultimately Gaius’s space. But now that Merlin had his own set of chambers to do with what he pleased, how did it look? Were there keepsakes from his year away? Did he store his book under the bed, still? Was he unpacked?

Arthur crept closer to the door, listening for sounds that Merlin had entered his chambers, but he heard nothing. Slowly, with his heart beating fast, he turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

And it was exactly the same as the day he had given it to Merlin. It looked just like every room in the castle— it didn’t fit. In his mind, Merlin’s room was completely unique. Like Merlin.

Oh, gods, what had he become? That sounded pitiful and girlish, even to his ears. For the love of Camelot, he sat on the damn throne of this kingdom. Arthur Pendragon did not  _ pine.  _

He was a man of action. It was time to see the council.

***

Well, Merlin was absolutely starving. He’d slept through lunch and barely had anything for breakfast, so he figured it was time to put something in his stomach. 

The cook never seemed inclined to give him anything, and he was too mortified to worry about whether Arthur had been brought dinner yet, so he decided to pay a visit to Gaius and his mother.

They were delighted to see him, of course, having not expected him so late. Gaius let out a cheery “my boy!” and ushered him inside, where Hunith was already fixing up something to eat. 

“If I would’ve known you’d be coming, I would’ve made a larger portion. Shouldn’t you be taking some food to Arthur?” she asked, stirring a bowl of something Merlin couldn’t recognize.

“It might do him some good,” Merlin joked, smiling brightly. “There’s not room yet for another hole in his belt.” He came to stand beside his mother. He was just about to ask if there was anything he could help her with when she gave him a smack on the back of his head.

“You shouldn’t talk like that about royalty,” Hunith said worriedly.

Gaius, who had taken a seat at the table with his potions book, raised The Eyebrow. “Hunith, if Arthur didn’t like his dynamic with Merlin, he would’ve sacked him years ago.”

“ _ Thank  _ you,” Merlin grumbled, rubbing the back of his head. Then he realized what Gaius had said. “Wait—!”

Gaius and Hunith laughed heartily. Dinner was ready soon after, to which they all sat down and listened to his mum describe how cute she thought Gwen and Lance were. “I just know they’ll get married soon,” she cooed.

Merlin thought of the way Gwen and Lancelot always seemed to be near each other (when she wasn’t working) nowadays; the way Lancelot frequently looked away with a private, delighted smile every time he and Gwen casually held hands in public; Merlin thought of the doting looks from both of them; how Gwen always triple checked and readjusted Lance’s armour before he did anything knight-related; the way she smiled at him and the way his eyes lit up when he saw it.

But still… “Don’t you think it might be a little fast?”

Gaius laughed quietly into his bowl. “Nonsense. There is no time limit on true love, Merlin.”

Hunith looked at her son pensively. “Or your heart,” she added. “Besides, not everyone has to pine for half a decade before—”

“Oh, my gods, Mum—” Merlin made a shocked noise in the back of his throat. “I  _ did not—” _

“It was merely an example, my love,” Hunith soothed, blowing on a spoonful of beef stew, but she and Gaius were both smirking.

***

Eventually, Hunith convinced Merlin to take a bowl of her soup to Arthur. Merlin reminded her that he probably just grabbed any maid he could find and asked them to get him something from the palace kitchens, but Hunith insisted that it was better safe than sorry, and as long as she was in this kingdom that boy would not be going hungry.

Never mind the fact that he was a grown man and their ruler, Merlin thought with a laugh. He relented.

At Arthur’s chambers, Merlin knocked on the door, but there was no answer. It was unlikely that he’d retire early; Merlin often had to drag him to bed, away from strategic plans and grain reports and just generally trying to solve any problem that ever existed.

He pushed the door open. The room was empty.

Huh. Perhaps he was in a meeting of some kind. It was a little late for that sort of thing, but it was known to happen. Arthur would have a eureka moment about something he’d been stuck on and then suddenly he couldn’t wait to inconvenience the whole castle with the news.

Merlin stepped up to the table and placed the bowl at Arthur’s usual sitting place. He saw no evidence that someone had already brought him something, but then again, there were far better servants than he in this palace, and they would’ve cleaned up impeccably.

Just in case, he left a warming charm on it so it would be ready to eat whenever Arthur got back. And, so he didn’t think it was a trap (not that Merlin would blame him, after everything they’d gone through with attempted assassinations and the like), he wrote out a note:

_ For His Royal Dollopheadedness, _

_ In case you haven’t had your supper yet. Courtesy of my mum, who is very concerned you aren’t eating right for absolutely no reason at all, and makes a mean stew. You’re welcome. _

_ Merlin _

*** 

When Arthur finally got to his chambers, the smell of food immediately wafted to his nose. It was curious, since he hadn’t asked for food to be brought to him, but there it was: a steaming, heaping bowl of what looked to be beef stew. 

He read the note next to it. Arthur snorted at “His Royal Dollopheadedness” and felt a grin grow at the idea of Merlin’s mother cooking for him, because she was worried a king wasn’t getting enough to eat.

Unfortunately, she was correct. He’d let go of himself this past year, as much as he hated to admit it, and old habits died hard— if no one reminded him to eat, he often didn’t, anymore. 

Hunith was a hell of a woman. Merlin was very lucky, he decided, and he was right. His mum  _ did  _ make a mean stew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one:
> 
> Absolutely no one:
> 
> Seriously, crickets are chirping:
> 
> Arthur: i'm the KING OF CAMELOT--
> 
> (reading this over is like... why did i mention that arthur was king so many times. like we know girl shut up lmfaooo)


	10. Put on Your War Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin, Arthur, and the knights train, flirt, and discover something interesting about Merlin's magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all the way you ENDED my LIFE in the chapter nine comments... cheeky lil buggers. proud of you.
> 
> this chapter put me over 50000 words. it is over 100 pages on docs. what! how! the length of a small novel? excuse me? i imagined this story being around 25-35k, so.... oops! may have overshot the mark just a tad.
> 
> (i made a valiant effort to limit the amount of king references. how did i do?)

Since Arthur wasn’t piling as many chores on him as he did before (Merlin supposed he’d hired other people to do certain jobs in his absence, and he tried very hard to not take it personally that Arthur didn’t dismiss them when he returned), Gaius had requested that Merlin work alongside him again. But this, too, was different than before. Before, he was simply a physician’s apprentice. No matter how skilled Merlin became, he always worked under Gaius; he collected Gaius’s herbs, taste-tested potions, cleaned his leech tank. 

Now Merlin still offered to collect herbs in place of his mother— while Hunith was not a fragile woman, it still would not do to have her go out alone in a place she was not familiar with, if he could help it. But mainly Gaius’s requests were for his medical opinion and a set of extra physician hands.

Actually, the first time he’d called for Merlin and asked which balm he felt would benefit the patient best, Merlin had been positively flabbergasted. He’d stammeringly reminded Gaius that he could simply heal the man magically, but Gaius immediately dismissed the idea. He said that magic healers in town made their business that way, and they were poor enough, so they should leave that work to them. 

Merlin barely held back a shout of joy at the time. To think there were healers, just casually doing business in the lower town. Magic. Everywhere. For good.

His heart could’ve burst.

“If there are healers in town,” Merlin had half-asked, half-teased, “then what use are you?”

Gaius had raised his imperious eyebrow and explained, like he was talking to a child, “People come to me to be healed if they cannot afford the immediate magical healing. It is also more risky, as these healers are only now getting back into practicing magic for healing wounds. And if it goes wrong it could go very wrong. So while it may be more painful and tedious, there is a level of security.”

Merlin knew that Gaius, although maybe a little rusty, would’ve had enough experience to become a magical healer. And yet he didn’t bother to ask why he was doing it the old fashioned way— magic may be legal now, but unlike Merlin’s, Gaius’s (and everyone else’s) would be an exhaustible resource. It would take a toll on him that he was too old to pay.

Currently, Merlin was wandering Camelot fields, searching for wildflowers and herbs to pick that he knew either he or Gaius would need. Hunith had protested, saying that it was her job and she must pull her weight, but Merlin assured her that part of pulling  _ his  _ weight was making sure his mother didn’t do more than was absolutely necessary. Hunith had called him a good boy and reluctantly sent him on his way.

The herbs, of course, were more plentiful in the woods, so he gravitated there. Grain fields merged into heavy foliage and towering trees. There were all kinds of plants growing past here— and all kinds of critters, too (he should know, he almost died by the hands of a few). He heard them chattering in the trees, scurrying from bush to bush, and smiled. 

Merlin had a lot of time to spend in nature when he was with the druids. It was rejuvenating, to be out there then, and to be here now. His magic pulsed happily in his veins.

He stepped forward, hearing the leaves crunching beneath him, and crouched when he saw a particularly promising plant. He plucked it and placed in into his basket; just as he was about to pluck another of the same herb, a sudden shadow was cast over them. He flew his head up and—

It was Lancelot. He wore his usual knight get-up, but he looked sheepish, like he had been doing something he wasn’t supposed to and Merlin had caught him.

“What are you doing here, Lance?”

Lancelot briefly glanced away and then darted his eyes right back to Merlin’s. “Patrolling. Looking for threats. The usual.”

It made sense; every knight had to do it. The only thing was Merlin knew for a fact that the soldiers of Camelot only patrolled the border between lands, lower town, and the citadel.

Lancelot, Merlin realized with delight, was  _ lying.  _ “You know,” Merlin teased, “this part of the forest is where the best flowers are.”

Lancelot immediately looked away. “Is that so?”

Merlin laughed, standing and stretching from his crouched position. “Lance.”

Lancelot looked at him with a slight flush in his cheeks. “Okay, fine. I might be picking flowers for Gwen. I know it’s not very…  _ manly  _ or  _ knightly  _ of me or whatever, but she likes them.”

“There’s nothing wrong with making your girl happy, Lancelot. Or yourself. Personally, I think the fairy flax would look great with your hair.” He reached down and picked the small, white flower, handing it to Lance. “Although, don’t eat it,” Merlin joked. “Whoever has the misfortune of emptying your chamber pot will be very cross.”

Lancelot scrunched up his nose in disgust. “Noted.” There was a pause while he tried to collect his dignity. And then he asked, “What about you? Helping Gaius?”

“As much as I can,” Merlin replied, bending down once more to continue picking herbs. It was a long moment of him working and Lancelot watching before Merlin finally lifted his head up to see his friend’s wistful smile.

“It’s nice seeing you out here, Merlin,” he said. “Everything’s so different but it’s all the same, too. It’s a strange feeling. If you don’t mind me asking…” Lancelot looked away again, bashful. “Why haven’t you changed anything?”

Merlin nearly dropped his handful. “What?”

Lancelot didn’t look bashful anymore. Suddenly he looked attentive, sharp, and like he was very interested in the next thing Merlin was about to say. “Why are you still Arthur’s servant?”

It felt like there was an underlying meaning. Merlin promptly ignored it. “Who else would put up with him?” he joked.

“So… nothing happened?”

“What would happen?”  _ Please gods let him not hear my voice crack. _

Lancelot looked at him for another beat, then sighed. “Of course, you’re right. I just thought— Arthur seemed strange, earlier.”

_ Oh.  _ Now that was interesting. “What? What kind of strange?” he asked, far too quickly than would be considered reasonable.

“Merlin? Are you sure everything is alright?”

“Yes, everything is fine, it’s just—” he thought for a moment, unsure if he should divulge this information, and then he realized  _ it’s Lance, you bloody numpty, he’s been keeping your secrets forever.  _ “ — well, my magic has been freaking out on me lately. I keep finding my room switched around, like it’s moving closer to Arth— to the stairs.” Merlin cleared his throat and willed himself not to blush. He was hoping that Lancelot didn’t catch that. “Arthur suggested that perhaps my magic was trying to tell me something, but I don’t know what he— what?”

He finally gained enough courage to look at Lancelot, who struggled to keep in a smile. “Nothing, Merlin. I just think Arthur is right, is all.”

Merlin scowled at the vague, probably mocking answer and moved deeper in the forest. At the very least, he wanted to get some work done while he suffered, if only to distract him. “Right about  _ what?”  _

Lancelot laughed and took Merlin’s basket from him, insisting on carrying it while Merlin inspected the plants. Dazedly, he looked towards the castle, as if in deep thought. “He’s a good man, Merlin. Give him some time, and all will be clear.”

Merlin stared at Lancelot, and then stared, and then stared some more. And then he scoffed.  _ Yeah, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. _

The two men walked back to the citadel together, Lancelot leaving to deliver flowers to Gwen and Merlin dropping off herbs and other medicinal plants at Gaius’s. But Merlin wasn’t feeling any better about this whole thing. In fact, he was more confused than before.

***

Merlin met Gwaine for lunch. He often had meals with Gwaine these days, as Arthur had more people around to tend to him (whether Merlin liked it or not) and he was so busy during the day that Merlin suspected if he tried to have lunch with him like they once did when Arthur was just a prince, he would be more of a hindrance than anything else.

The last thing he wanted was to get in Arthur’s way. And besides, he’d missed Gwaine dearly, too, and was grateful for the newfound opportunities to reconnect.

Through the chattering of the pub, Gwaine attempted normal conversation— he asked after Merlin and volunteered some information about his own day, babbling on about whatever came to mind. When the food came and Merlin didn’t even touch the plate, however, Gwaine finally realized how pensive Merlin had been this whole time.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, casually, with just the slightest touch of concern. He took a large bite of his lunch, and then a long swig of his drink. “It’s like I’m getting the silent treatment,” he said, his mouth full, chewing openly. 

“Ew, Gwaine.” Merlin nearly shoved Gwaine off of his seat. “You’re not getting the silent treatment, you drama queen. I’m just thinking—” He saw Gwaine start to open his mouth again, and hastily added, “if you say  _ Don’t hurt yourself,  _ I will magically ensure that everyone in Camelot thinks you’re the ugliest thing they’ve seen for miles for at least three weeks.”

“Not even sure you could do that with magic, mate—”

“Do you want to try it?”

Gwaine grinned. “No, thanks. So what happened? Arthur’s been kind of weird today. Too in his own head. Did you have a lover’s spat?”

Merlin scowled. “No. My magic is malfunctioning, and I think it’s weirding both of us out.” He took a bite of his food. It was good, as usual. It wasn’t Mum’s, but it was good.

At Gwaine’s request, Merlin relayed the entire situation, including his encounter with Lancelot. At the end of it, all he said was, “Hm.”

Hm?  _ Hm?  _ What the hell did that mean? “Is Lancelot right?” he asked, trying to decipher his meaning. “Should I just wait until Arthur is ready to tell me what he meant by what he said?”

Gwaine scoffed, setting his cup down a little too hard. “Fuck that,” he said, digging into his food. “That’s as good an opening as any.”

_ An opening for what?  _ Merlin didn’t ask. “What if he’s mad at me for invading his privacy?”

Gwaine laughed loudly, mid-chew, and Merlin grimaced when a piece of mush flew onto the table. “He’s not.”

“How—”

“He’s not. And also, don’t worry. If he  _ is  _ mad at you, there are ways to get around that. For example, he’s likely to forgive just about anything in a post-orgasmic haze.”

“GWAINE—” Merlin gasped, unable to comprehend what he was hearing, and his friend winced when Merlin kicked him under the table, right in the shin, in his surprise. 

“What?” Gwaine asked, like it was no big deal, but he was smiling wickedly. “It’s okay, I’m just saying, I wish you guys could get it together enough to see that you’re on the same page.”

“We’re together.” At Gwaine’s raised eyebrows, Merlin hastily corrected, “I mean, I’m together. We. I mean, we have it together. We’re fine, Gwaine. Both of us. Individually.”

“Oh, clearly.”

Merlin sniffed, indignant. Gwaine pushed his plate aside as he swallowed the last bite. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Merlin,” Gwaine shamed, suddenly serious now. “I think I know you a little better than that.”

Merlin really, really needed to get out of here before he started hyperventilating.

“Merlin!” a booming voice called across the tavern. Merlin froze. Arthur came rotting up to the table, a big smile on his face, looking as if he were on a mission. “Where have you been?”

He swallowed heavily, inexplicably nervous. “I’m eating lunch with Gwaine.”

“Obviously,” Gwaine added, gesturing to his empty plate.

Arthur glared. “Whatever— We’re training today, Merlin.. Meet with the knights on the field when you’re finished. And if you fall into a post-food nap after this, I will not be pleased.”

“Are you ever?” Merlin muttered, raising a spoon to his mouth. Arthur was about to retaliate when Gwaine got a mischievous look in his eye and Merlin thought  _ Oh, gods, this can’t be good. _

“So, Princess,” he said suddenly, leaning into Arthur’s personal space. “I hear you’re interested in the meaning behind Merlin’s bedroom situation.”

Merlin caught himself in just enough time to avoid doing a spit-take, but he did choke on his ale some. He glanced at Arthur— his ears, to both Merlin’s embarrassment and delight, went pink.

“Tell me,” Gwaine continued, “what do  _ you  _ think his magic is trying to tell him?”

Arthur laughed, taking a step back from the table. His energy seemed… off, all of the sudden. He looked coolly at Merlin. “Hell if I know. Was just joking around, is all.”

Merlin felt very hot then, with the embarrassment that he would think something happened at all washing over him. Of course it hadn’t. He was a fool for thinking otherwise, for even a split second, of course he was, and Gwaine was cruel for humoring his hopeless fantasy.

Arthur chuckled at the sight of his bright face, plastered on a cocky smirk. “You look ridiculous when those ears blush.”

Merlin touched his ears.  _ Stupid, stupid ears. _ “Heh, right,” he muttered, mustering up half of an insincere smile. 

“Practice, Merlin. Be there  _ on time,  _ for once. You too, Gwaine,” Arthur said, finally, and departed. 

***

Well, damn. That wasn’t what Arthur had meant to do at all. Truthfully, he’d meant to tell Merlin to come to training, and maybe make him eat if he hadn’t had anything yet. Eat with himself, that is. 

But he wasn’t prepared to find Gwaine there with him— he should’ve been, but Merlin always used to take his meals with Arthur or Gaius, and Arthur forgot for a moment that there were other people in this castle he gladly spent time with. Not that there was anything wrong with that, it was just strange. It was new. It threw him off.

And then Gwaine opened that big gob, and Arthur panicked. Merlin had such an expectant look on his face… Arthur couldn’t help it. His anti-vulnerability mechanism kicked in, and instead of the gentle ribbing he’d been going for, he somehow landed in aggressive mockery.

In all honesty, he didn’t really have a plan for training today, either. He had convinced the council earlier to let Merlin in on the fighting— not that he wouldn’t have done it even if they’d said no, but it was nice to have their approval when you did something potentially as risky as this. 

He’d argued that Merlin had already been to training a thousand times as a servant, and if he were going to sell Camelot’s techniques and battle plans to enemy kingdoms, he would’ve by now. It could only benefit to have the most powerful sorcerer of all time on their side. 

_ The most powerful sorcerer of all time. _

That was another thing. Arthur would need to see that with his own eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in Merlin— not that he’d had the best track record of convincing him of it, admittedly— but he just didn’t know what the limit was. There had to be a limit to his power, right? 

He didn’t personally know anyone who could do  _ any  _ bit of magic. He’d made sure to do his research, of course, but there weren’t enough resources to know exactly what sorcerers could do without passing out, or- or dying or something— seriously, he needed to educate himself more on this. This training would be good for everyone, and Merlin’s mentor would be there, and so would the woman who raised him. He had hope they’d get an accurate idea of what they could be dealing with. 

Most of all, he’d like to know what the consequences were. Merlin’s power was great, and awe-inspiring, but Arthur had never known power of that level to be without a price. Didn’t his father always say that magic was dangerous? And wasn’t that because he’d had firsthand experience with the price magic took? Did those natural laws only apply in certain instances? Did they not apply to Merlin at all?

Arthur just hoped that the answer was not that Merlin simply had no regard for his own life, because that was a recurring problem, and Arthur intended to remedy that as soon as possible. Merlin had spent the majority of their time together offering to give up his life for him, and then he actually did, and Arthur had no intention of letting him even try to do it again.

Within a few minutes, everyone started piling into the training field. Arthur started everyone with a warm-up, intending to at least try to get his knights a leg to stand on when they go up against Merlin. 

It would be another twenty minutes before Merlin himself did actually arrive, with Gwaine in tow, late as predicted. The knights all welcomed him, clapping him on the shoulder, saying they’re excited for him to join them. It was nice to see, but the look of confusion, suspicion, and joy mixed on Merlin’s face was better.

As Arthur watched him, he continued to think about the current situation. He’d tried to ask Celestina, but at the end of the day she was still just a young girl. It wasn’t probable that she’d know  _ everything  _ about the whole situation. He suspected that, until the druids came at least, Merlin was the only one who could answer his questions. 

Not that Merlin really understood his powers at the moment. Arthur wasn’t particularly complaining, either— the knowledge that Merlin had unknowingly been moving himself closer and closer to Arthur, even when they were rooms apart, was positively  _ exhilarating.  _

For one thing, being able to do something like that in his sleep exhibited so much raw power that it stirred an undeniable attraction deep in his gut. For another, it was comforting to know that he wasn’t the only one longing, knowingly or not, for the day they shared a bed.

Because that’s what Arthur would like to think it was. He didn’t want it to just be a fluke. Merlin was pure emotion, and he would like to believe that actions such as these could only be the result of wanting Arthur as much as Arthur wanted him— and Arthur did want him. Not just when he was sleeping. All the time.

It was bloody exhausting.

When Arthur stepped forward towards the center of the field, he didn’t need to say anything. The knights immediately formed a circle around him, and Elyan gave Merlin a big push that sent him stumbling towards the middle, right next to Arthur. 

There was an energy in the air, Arthur decided, like the boys were waiting for something. When he looked over at Merlin it was clear he had no idea what that something was. It was kind of funny, actually, that it wouldn’t even occur to him that Arthur would now be including him as an actual opponent— an equal in a fight. And just a little bit sad.

Merlin glanced back at Arthur, and then to the other side of the circle, where Gaius stood. “Gaius?” he asked. “What’s going on? Mum?”

Hunith, next to Gaius, blew a kiss to Merlin. The knights awwed and cooed mockingly. Arthur almost felt bad for him— Merlin would be teased about this for months, of that there was no doubt.

“It would seem,” Gaius called, “that they would like to see what you’re made of, my boy.”

Merlin drew his eyebrows together. He turned to look at Arthur for confirmation. “Battle training?”

At Arthur’s nod, Merlin took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. Arthur braced for a dangerous display. Whatever Merlin was cooking up, he didn’t want Merlin to hold back— he wanted to see everything he had—

Arthur’s thoughts ceased as a blue light shot out of Merlin’s outstretched hands. As soon as it hit the sky, the light spread in a dome-like shape encompassing not only the training field, but the grain fields, the river, and the citadel beside. He didn’t even see how far it stretched on the other side.

His jaw dropped. Had— had Merlin basically just built a— what was it, a shield? A forcefield? — around the entire kingdom? At the very least he’d gotten more than half, and that was just. Arthur couldn’t help laughing. What kind of man heard “battle training” and immediately thought of this?

A beautiful, beautiful man, that’s who. Arthur, Gaius, Hunith, and every knight on the field looked on in silence.

When everyone had gotten a good look, Merlin raised his hand once again, palm open, and squeezed his hand shut. Immediately, the barrier dissipated, leaving blue drops of dew to fall from the sky and rest on the grass. 

“That was lovely, Merlin, but when are we going to see some action?” Elyan called, laughing to the side. Merlin beamed.

“Oh, right.” He held his hands out, and then faltered. 

“What’s the matter?” Arthur asked him.

Merlin looked over at him, troubled. “Well, I don’t know what you guys would like to see. What do you want me to do?”

“What  _ can  _ you do?”

Gaius broke from the circle and stalked towards them, clasping his hands in front of him. “Your majesty,” he started, looking uneasily at Merlin. “To understand this, you must understand the very nature of his magic. His magic, while at times having a mind of its own—” Merlin scoffed, as if to say,  _ I’ll say _ . “ — ultimately is an extension of himself. It is not something that inhabits him. He does not  _ use  _ magic, he is magic itself, and his thoughts and feelings have a direct link to his abilities.” 

“In short,” Hunith said, continuing where Gaius left off, “Merlin can do anything, so long as his heart is in it.”

_ Merlin can do anything. _

“Anything?” Percival said, his voice squeaky. He cleared his throat. “Um. Ahem. I mean. Anything?”

“Alright,” Arthur said, hoping he didn’t sound like Percival did just then, and knowing that he probably did. “Different tactic. Instead of a performance, let’s get some actual training here. Merlin, I’m going to send my men after you. Let’s see how many you can stop.”

Merlin looked pale as a sheet, but consented. How could someone like him be so nervous about a little friendly battle?

“Okay, men,” Arthur boomed, in Leader Mode now, addressing his knights. “Grab your weapons of choice. We’ll start this out one at a time, just in case, because  _ no harm is to actually come to Merlin.  _ Clear?”

“CLEAR!” they answered.

“I want the utmost focus on this field, is that understood? Pay attention. Gwaine, I’m looking at you.”

Gwaine glared, looking between Percival and Arthur. “Then tell him to get some sleeves.”

Merlin choked back a laugh. Percival stammered. “I— My arms get warm!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. So much for focus. He leaned towards Merlin to make a joke about the sexual tension between two of his best knights, when he saw the look on Merlin’s face. 

Merlin cleared his throat. He looked less nervous than before, but still uneasy. Like he had something to say, and he wasn’t sure Arthur was going to like it. 

“...What?” he asked wearily.

Merlin shuffled his feet. “Send all of them.”

“What? Merlin, no, what if it’s too much—”

“It won’t be—”

“You can’t know that. Let’s just send Leon, Percival, Gwaine, Elyan, and Lancelot—”

“That’s not going to be a problem,” Gaius interjected, moving to the sidelines once more, Hunith in tow, “because he’s already done it.”

Slowly, Arthur turned to look at Merlin. 

“Several times,” he said, nodding solemnly.

In the end, Arthur decided to trust Merlin and send him all he had, since Merlin had  _ oh so much practice  _ taking apart Camelot’s defenses. 

He was not disappointed. 

It was on pure instinct that Merlin seemed to move; he was up against 150 knights. And he didn’t falter for a single moment.

Arthur watched as eleven knights rushed him with swords, and Merlin swiped his hand in the air and knocked them over like rolling pins. On each side of Merlin were men with maces, and Arthur saw a flash of gold as the ends of each weapon broke off and he used the remaining sticks to hit them in the head.

The spears and the crossbows came at the same time. Arthur could see two men with crossbows lining up from behind, and he was a little worried he’d have to jump in and push Merlin out of the way. What if he couldn’t sense them?

He needn’t have worried. As the knights with their horses charged on, Merlin’s eyes flashed gold again, and suddenly the horses stopped moving— they neighed and nuzzled the air, apparently very happy all of the sudden, and feeling suspiciously lazy. Gwaine, who was on one of the horses, tried to nudge his horse, but it didn’t work. In their momentary confusion, Merlin took the opportunity to snap the spearheads off, just as he did with the maces. The horses, unfortunately, were spooked by this and bucked their riders off. Merlin winced (as did Arthur), but didn’t have time to do much more than that when the crossbows fired from behind. Merlin turned, just before Arthur dived in to save him (they got much too close for his comfort), and slowed each arrow down and simply plucked them out of the air, walking over and handing them to Arthur.

Arthur took them, feeling like he was seeing Merlin, truly, for the first time. 

Over the knights tired and pained groans, Merlin said, “Okay, is there anything else you want to try? How about—”

Merlin cut off his speech when he saw Arthur coming for him. Arthur gripped his sword and charged, pulling out all his stops, and for the first time since they started the exercise Merlin seemed to actually falter. His instinct failed him, and he allowed Arthur to sweep his feet from under him. Merlin landed painfully on the ground, Arthur’s sword at his throat.

“Why,” Arthur huffed, taking in deep breaths, “did you let me get that close to you?”

“I- I don’t know, my magic just kind of reacted with the others— I tried to use my magic against you, and it just… wouldn’t.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean it wouldn’t? You can’t stop protecting yourself just because it’s someone you know.”

“I  _ know!”  _ Merlin groaned, frustrated now. “I know  _ them!  _ Had no problem taking them out!”

Arthur frowned. That was peculiar. “Yes,” he said. “Nice job, by the way. But it’s no use if a simple element of surprise can bring you down.” He reached a hand down to Merlin, who took it, rubbing his backside with a groan as he stood up.

“I told you,” he said, “it’s not like that. I saw you coming, remember? My magic wouldn’t let me. It was like it’s… afraid to hurt you, almost. There was a little sting when I sent something your way, actually, like it was mad at me for trying.” He laughed, disbelieving. 

So he was just as confused as Arthur, then.

“Well,” Gwaine gibed, grunted as he attempted to move to all fours from where he was sprawled on the ground. “While you were too afraid to hurt Princess over there, I’ve got a concussion and— I’m pretty sure— two sprained ankles. Two, Merlin!”

Merlin winced. “I’m sorry, Gwaine, I—”

Gwaine pouted, pushing his lower lip out. “He bats his pretty lashes at you ONE TIME—”

“Okay, Gwaine, thanks! Thank you!” Merlin yelled, louder than necessary, and Arthur absolutely could  _ not  _ help the smirk on his face, thank you very much.

Merlin marched off toward Hunith and Gaius, suspiciously hiding his face, and Arthur went to help Gwaine up.

“Let’s take a break!” Arthur called. “We’ll resume tomorrow. Rest for now.” Then, standing over Gwaine’s body, offered a hand.

Gwaine took it. He said nothing, but grimaced when he stood up straight. 

“So, you think I’m pretty?” Arthur snickered.

Gwaine smiled the kind of winning smile he always gave the ladies after a tournament. “If you weren’t wearing all that armour I’d mistake you for a fair maiden— Ow!”

***

After Merlin prepared him for bed that night and went to his own chambers, Arthur lie awake, staring at nothing. Thinking.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he was able to go to bed swiftly. It was always like this, now— lying awake, thinking of Merlin. Worrying about Merlin.

Wishing he was here.

It was impossible to miss someone you saw only twenty minutes ago, right? But he did. Merlin had been in and out so quickly Arthur had hardly had the chance to say two words to him before he whisked himself away. 

He was still in awe from this afternoon. Merlin had always been courageous, but this was different. The thought of his courage combined with this new strong, powerful, and gritty Merlin was absolutely ruining him. Merlin couldn’t ever just be boring? He couldn’t ever just be like George and be dreadfully dull and give him a goddamn break?

Arthur shuddered. He took it back. Merlin acting like George would be a terrible, terrible experience indeed.

Now knowing that nothing— nothing except  _ him,  _ he remembered with a warm jolt— could stop him from conquering basically anything he wanted, defeating any enemies he deemed deserving, his kindness was even more impressive.

What other surprises did Merlin have up his sleeve?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys enjoyed!! a little more action was due, i thought. i also suck at action scenes, so sorry lmfao. comments/kudos are welcomed and cherished <3
> 
> tumblr: rageynerd  
> twitter: rageynerd


	11. Our Time is Running Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> druids are here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my loves.   
> as promised, the druids return. to refresh your memory-- remember that brief line in chapter two in which Merlin talks about the neckerchief he got from his suitor/close friend? it may be helpful to keep this in mind, as i'm sure many of you glossed over it (as it was meant to be at the time!).

In three days time, the druids arrived.

Merlin was tired from the night before. He wasn’t able to sleep— not just from the anticipation of seeing his old friends again, but because, as usual, Merlin can’t figure out where he stands with Arthur. 

Last night, just as he was turning the knob to his bedchamber, Arthur had suggested (quite firmly in fact) that he bunk with Gaius and Hunith for the night. Merlin had immediately asked why, and if there was something wrong, but Arthur would not answer. He only kept giving uneasy glances at Merlin’s door.

So, Merlin thought, it had boiled down to the dread of having to spend another night in such close proximity. Let him not forget how, after waking up cuddling in the morning, Arthur moved him to the farthest point in the corridor in his horror.

Yes, one time was enough for him, apparently. Merlin and his big ears were so repulsive that they were simply not welcome anymore.

Nevertheless, Merlin was determined to keep a positive attitude and focus on the arrival of the druids.

He didn’t know how to act, to be frank. He tried to go along with his duties like normal, just passing the time, but all day long he felt this bubble of excitement in his chest, swelling in each minute that ticked past.

Even the knights noticed. “You look like a kid on Beltane, Merlin,” Leon had commented at training earlier that day. But he couldn’t help it. He missed the druids— leaving Camelot as he did left a gaping hole in him, one that the druids’ friendship and kindness filled. He will always love them as if he’d known them his whole life. And although he had no idea  _ which  _ druids would come (as some at least had to stay home to watch over the camp), he would be glad to see any one of them.

Merlin was pleased to note that Morgana made an appearance at their training today. Since she still couldn’t practice magic without Arthur finding out, the only thing she really contributed was snarky comments no one else could hear and, when Arthur allowed Merlin a break and they went magic-free, kicking some beefy ass on the field with her sword.

She warmed up like that now, making bold and strategic swings at Gwaine, while Merlin took a breather. She was winning, and Gwaine had to keep reminding her that  _ all we are doing is warming up!,  _ but that was to be expected. Gwaine was the one who had unwisely asked why she was here, after all. 

“I’m looking forward to seeing Healer Baldwin,” Merlin told Leon. “He was probably my best friend. We worked alongside each other in the healer’s tent, mostly fixing up the kids— magical children play dirty— but he’s the best and— _ oof!” _

Merlin was knocked to the ground, seeing stars in his vision, and he heard the clinking of metal and armour together. When he looked over at Leon, he was fighting a stony-faced, grumpy Arthur, who was leading a rather vicious attack.

_ You’ve done it this time.  _ He heard Morgana’s giggle ring in his head. He groaned.  _ Someone’s jealous!  _ she said in a sing-song.

Merlin shook his head. He focused on blocking every blow to Leon while Leon handled the offensive aspects. Even caught unawares, they won the battle. It was pretty amazing how they’d all come to learn to work together, to instinctively get a grasp on strengths and weaknesses, in such a short period of time. 

“Merlin! That was awesome!” Percival called, jogging over to them. “What does it feel like, to do magic like that? Oh, do you say a spell in your head? Did you say a spell at all? Hey, can you—”

Morgana scoffed.  _ This isn’t a child’s birthday party, for heaven’s sake. What are you going to do, pull a coin out from behind his ear? _

Merlin laughed, throwing a huge smile at Morgana. Morgana smiled triumphantly back. Everyone else, he noticed then, glanced between them in confusion. Oops. Hopefully no one had figured out they could communicate telepathically yet— that was a whole other can of worms he was reluctant to open.

To draw attention away from the moment, Merlin turned to Arthur. He still looked grumpy, Merlin thought with a laugh. “Just so you know, using my magic so frequently is draining. I applaud the use of magic for defense. I support it. But my advice is to not let your men use it as a crutch. I will protect the people of Camelot, but I am one man, and you know Gwaine is going to do all he can to do less work—”

“Oi!” Gwaine called, picking himself off the grass after a hard loss to Morgana.

Arthur only nodded, and without another word to Merlin, called for another go.

***

Later, Arthur came to Gaius’s door. Gaius and Hunith were gone at the moment, busy dropping off potions to patients, and Merlin had magicked some of his things here when Arthur had so rudely kicked him out of his own room last night to get ready. Merlin was just shrugging on some robes when Arthur knocked and said, “The druids will be ready for us soon. Let me in, you buffoon.”

Merlin tried not to squeal as he opened the door for Arthur. He kept his regular clothes on but, in honor of their arrival, had decided to wear the robe he was given after joining the camp. He used to wear it all the time, during that year away. It was a deep blue, simple thing, with a hood and fine gold embroidering. The embroidering was beautiful: the druid symbol in a connecting pattern, swirling and never-ending, and on the back, top-to-bottom was the golden outline of a magnificent, powerful dragon. 

Arthur let out a sharp gasp when he saw him. He took in a deep breath, and then, all in one whoosh, asked, “Wheredidyougetthat?”

"Euphemia— she’s the seamstress, bloody brilliant she is— made it in honor of my arrival, I guess. As soon as I stepped foot in the camp they were placing it on my shoulders. It must’ve taken hours to make— the magic weaved in each strand is mind-blowing. I can feel it humming against my skin. It’s meant not only as protection but to enhance my powers.”

Arthur half-smiled. “As if you need it, Mr All-Powerful. How did they even make it in time? How did they know you were coming?”

Merlin smiled brightly. It was the first time Arthur had truly been curious about his life with the druids. “They have Seers! It’s amazing, Arthur. They have all these prophecies and they know the general course of things but they can also determine outcomes of certain decisions, if they’re powerful enough. And they can tell someone’s individual fates every once in a while, but only when the power is at its highest on—”

He stopped talking, seeing Arthur’s troubled look.

“Arthur?” He looked nervous all of the sudden. Pale. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Merlin could hear his gulp. “It’s just… your friends sound amazing. I hope Camelot will be fitting for them.”

Merlin laughed. “Arthur, they  _ are  _ great, but they also live in the woods. And they love it that way! Being out in nature is intoxicating for people like us. However, I think a night of luxury in a castle will suit them just fine. Trust me, waking up in the middle of the night to adjust the wards to keep out the oncoming thunderstorm isn’t the best job. Especially if you’re late, and just barely avoiding lightning— yes, they’ll enjoy the palace for the night.”

Arthur didn’t look as relieved as Merlin had hoped. But he didn’t understand this nervousness. He had meetings all the time.

“What is the etiquette for magic peoples? I’m unfamiliar.”

Merlin muffled a laugh. He was tempted to tell him something ridiculous— maybe have him perform the chicken dance as the druids entered— but the look on his face told Merlin he just wanted to make a good impression. And Merlin could not tease him for that. But still, he guffawed at the question.

“Arthur, when have I ever given off the impression that I’ve learned any kind of etiquette rules?”

Arthur barked out a laugh and granted him that. 

After some last-minute adjustments, they headed over to the throne room, early to receive their guests, as wass proper.

Nearly everyone had filled in once they arrived, and Merlin bounced on his heels back and forth for a few minutes before Arthur shot a hand out and grabbed Merlin’s, stilling him instantly. “Calm down,” he muttered. “You’re going to give Geoffrey a stroke.”

Merlin looked over at Geoffrey, fretting in the front of the crowd, watching Merlin and looking a little green. “Sorry,” he whispered.

By the time the last straggler came, the druids were waiting outside. An announcer came forward to announce their arrival. “Your majesty,” he said with a deep bow. “The Druids humbly request your presence.” Arthur inclined his head, and then two guards pulled the doors open. 

Merlin grinned wide, seeing familiar faces flood the room, their blue and red robes gliding towards him. As soon as they reach Merlin and Arthur, Merlin intended to greet them properly, but instead they all drop to their knees.

All at once, they lifted their hands in prayer from the ground, not towards the sky but towards  _ him.  _ “Emrys,” they chanted. “Emrys, Emrys, the Great and Merciful.”

Merlin was so embarrassed that at first he couldn’t look away, thinking he didn’t know what he’d do because he would die of mortification if he made contact with anyone in this room— he was going to be hearing mockery of this title for decades to come, he just  _ knew  _ it— 

But then he glanced to the side, because he couldn’t help it, and saw Morgana roll her eyes. Somehow that made him feel marginally better.  _ Oh,  _ she said, irritable and fond in his mind,  _ no one says hello to me? _

He didn’t reply. He couldn’t. Because then Percival knelt, and with an awed and understanding smile, bowed his head. Gwaine followed without hesitation, winking at him; then Lancelot, and Leon, and Elyan. Morgana, he saw out of the corner of his eye, came to stand directly next to him. 

He turned to her, flummoxed, and she grinned, kissing his cheek. Gracefully, her gown pooled around her as she lowered to the ground, careful not to dirty it as she knelt too.

This was too much. This was way, way too much. He was not prepared for this, had no reason to have been—

Alarmed, he finally looked to Arthur. He dealt with this all the time. Arthur would sort out this nonsense, won’t he?

The two of them locked eyes. And then, slowly, without ever breaking eye contact, Arthur too was down on his knees for him.

The rest of the room followed.

Merlin might pass out.

Everyone rose after a moment. Not knowing what to say, Merlin tried, in a croaky voice, “Um. Welcome.”

The Head Druid, Ixchel, stepped forward. “Thank you very much, Emrys,” she began. “We have missed your days with us, but are very happy to see you in your true home.”

Arthur relaxed almost imperceptibly next to him, and Merlin wondered if it was his imagination. Most of all, he wondered what Arthur was thinking about.

Merlin found his voice and stepped forward to greet them properly, the Ealdor way, be damned with etiquette— in front of the whole court, Merlin pulled Ixchel into a hug. The hug was so tight that Ixchel let out a startled laugh and, wrapping her arms around his middle, he lifted her up in the air. He did the same with all of the druids, who seemed more than happy to get an authentic greeting from Emrys himself. He exchanged a few words with Healer Baldwin— apparently the kids were a lot to handle without the help of an almighty sorcerer— and shook hands with Seer Florian, who smirked and didn’t say much. 

Euphemia positively beamed to see her handiwork on Merlin. “It’s an honor to see you wear that robe, Great and Merciful Emrys.” Her hands shook as she reached out to touch the fabric. “I made it for this specific occasion.”

“With my help, of course,” Florian drawled, smiling smugly. 

In the back of the group, a young man with dirty blond hair stepped forward. It flopped just slightly over his forehead and curled under his ears in a way that suggested he needed a haircut but he was certainly going to rock the look until he got there. His sea-green eyes danced, the tilt of his lips playful. He easily wore the best robes in the camp— unlike most that were made to swallow you, his robes only brought attention to his best features. Which Merlin wasn’t afraid to say was pretty much everything, because he wasn’t exactly blind, and  _ wow.  _

“Where’s the new neckerchief I got you? Euphemia gets to see her gift, but I don’t get to see mine?”

“Josse!” Merlin laughed, pulling him into a hug. It’s friendly and warm, as he is. “I still have it, tucked away, safe and sound.”

“Good,” Josse said, mollified. He, too, wrapped his arms around Merlin, except they didn’t seem sure where to land— until they landed smack on his bum. To Merlin’s simultaneous horror and amusement. 

Merlin yanked himself away, laughing in surprise, slapping his arm. “Scoundrel!” he accused. “You’re as bad as Gwaine!” 

Josse grinned lopsidedly. “Sorry, Emrys. Had to do it one last time, since it’s been so long. I’m sure Gwaine would see my side of things— he seems like an awesome guy.”

Merlin snorted. Gwaine whooped to the side. “Yeah, yeah, you’d get on.”

Geoffrey shuffled concernedly to Arthur. “Sire, this is hardly appropriate for an official greeting—”

“They’re just friendly, Geoffrey,” Morgana corrected with disdain in her voice. She glanced at Josse. “Very… friendly.” 

Her long curls bounced as she descended the two small steps and stood side-by-side once more with Merlin. “ _ This  _ was the suitor you turned down, Merlin?” 

Merlin closed his eyes. He didn’t want it spelled out so plainly for everyone, but he supposed Josse had already done the damage. He nodded. 

Morgana pushed Merlin out of the way. “Darling, you’re a fool. Hello, Josse, I am the Lady Morgana. Princess, if you prefer. It is simply  _ enchanting  _ to meet you,” she purred, offering her hand.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Arthur said lowly. Merlin cleared his throat. He could see now they had gone too far with the greetings. The incessant chatter going on about the room came to an abrupt halt.

_You’d better put a protection spell on that boy,_ Morgana thought at him. _Arthur is_ _not liking this._

Merlin stepped back and cleared his throat. “Sorry, Sire. Anyway, it’s so good to see you all.” Projecting his voice, he continued, “Thank you for agreeing to come, and travelling so far as Camelot. I would like to formally introduce you to King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot.”

Everyone in the room now turned to Arthur, who schooled his scowling face in record time. The entire room bowed to him, and yes, finally, to Merlin  _ this  _ felt right. 

“Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin continued, voice bellowing with pride, “the Once and Future King.”

“The Once and Future King! The Once and Future King!” the druids chanted with certainty and faith. Arthur looked at Merlin, and he realized that for a moment he forgot Arthur had never heard himself called that.

He looked shellshocked, words dead on his lips and eyes brimming with something Merlin wouldn’t allow himself to place.

Head Druid Ixchel quickly bows to Morgana. “And of course, we have missed seeing the face of our princess.”

Morgana and Ixchel clasp hands. Merlin could see Arthur’s mind working, and he realized— this might be it. The druids may have outed Morgana before she even got the chance to. Because if Emrys was like a king to the druids, what must Morgana be in order to be the princess?

Arthur’s face hardened, and Merlin knew he’d hit the nail on the head. Arthur tilted his eyes and narrowed them at his manservant, as if to say,  _ We’ll talk about this later.  _ Merlin gulped.

***

When the official welcome was over, the majority of guests were escorted out. Only Arthur, Morgana, the knights, Gwen, Gaius, Healer Baldwin, Head Druid Ixchel, and himself remained.

“Emrys,” Healer Baldwin started kindly, “I understand we are here to help you solve a problem of yours. What could be the matter?”

Merlin, with a blush on his cheeks, had the painful experience of confessing all that had been going on with his magic. Instantly Ixchel’s eyes clouded over, and instantly he knew she went into the Sight. “Ah,” she said, as her eyes went back to normal.

“What is it?” Arthur asked, authoritative but patient, if not a little concerned. 

“You have not lost control of your magic, dear Emrys,” she began. “And certainly not permanently. Magic is a part of your soul, and your soul is currently in disharmony.”

“That doesn’t sound particularly safe,” Arthur pointed out. He bristled, as if stating anything in the negative about Merlin’s health was a personal threat. 

“It’s certainly not good for him,” Gaius said.

“The magic is trying to solve the imbalance on its own,” Healer Baldwin explained. “It’s important to remember that, given the inherent nature of your magic and the way its tied to your emotions, it may always mildly act up around… people you are…” He was actively smirking at Merlin now. The bastard. “...distracted by. Especially if your magic is fond of said person, which I suspect is the case—” Merlin nodded. “ — and which you must know is very significant. It takes a very strong tie to one another to bond your magic,  _ unwittingly,  _ to someone who does not practice it themselves.”

Head Druid Ixchel nodded. “Nevertheless, it should still listen to your final say in the matter. To fix this, Emrys, you must once again learn to meld to the same coin in which you dwell. Two halves of one whole cannot be separated when destined to be together.”

Both druids give the room a chance to absorb what just happened. Baldwin stepped forward and clapped a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “It is so good to see you again, my friend. When everything is sorted, perhaps you will visit my chambers. I have a surprise for you waiting there, and she is very excited to see you again.”

Merlin grinned from ear to ear, slowly coming out of his haze of shock. “Amabel? She’s here?”

Baldwin laughed. “You thought I could keep her away? Her mother is looking after her in our rooms as we speak.” He looked at Arthur. “Which I thank you for, Sire, truly.”

“Think nothing of it,” Arthur said, inclining his head, his voice carefully diplomatic.

Morgana strutted quickly towards the door. “Oh, how delightful,” she said warmly. “I bet she’s lonely in her room all by herself. Gwen and I will just go and—”

“No,” Arthur said quietly, and Elyan moved in front of the door to block her exit. “Guinevere may go, but you will stay here, Morgana.”

The room was filled with a tense air.  _ Don’t leave,  _ Morgana whispered, even though no one at all could hear them.

Gwen, unwavering in her loyalty, moved to stand at Morgana’s side. She took her hand, a challenge in her eyes as she looked at Arthur.

Arthur’s eyes widened slightly, before he remembered to collect himself. At Merlin’s nod, Elyan escorted the druids out and came to stand by the group once more. Gaius, with one eyebrow raised, had left with the druids and retreated to safety.

Noticing that Elyan did not latch the door properly, and not wanting any eavesdroppers, Merlin moved towards the door to remedy it.

Unfortunately, Morgana misunderstood this action. “Merlin!” She said, panicked and flighty, like if he moved another step in the wrong direction she may attempt to leave in a puff of smoke. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Shh, Gana,” Merlin soothed, rushing back to his place. He reached over and gave her other hand a squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A look of hurt flashed across Arthur’s face, although Merlin wasn’t sure what for. The knights stood behind or to the side of Arthur, looking at Morgana, shocked and curious as Arthur himself. All except Lancelot, of course, who went to stand behind Gwen with a companionable and reassuring smile. As if he was saying,  _ You can do this. _

Merlin was so happy for Morgana. Whatever might happen here, she had an incredible support system waiting for her now, and that was more than Merlin could say for himself at the time.

“So,” Gwaine ventured, breaking the silence, “Princess Morgana, huh? Seems fitting.”

Morgana smiled nervously but brilliantly at him. “The druids are very generous with me. I am not even a fraction as powerful as Merlin. But the Head Druid says I have potential— I was a late bloomer, she says, because of the environment I grew up in—” she threw a nervous look at Arthur, trying to gauge his reaction and getting nothing— “and my suppressing it for so many years. But with enough time, he says my powers will grow in ways I couldn’t have imagined.”

“Late bloomer,” Percival muses, probably imagining his fantasies of waking up and becoming a magical overlord, if his questions to Merlin were anything to go by. 

“Ha-ha,” Elyan snorted. “Magical runt.”

Merlin’s lips twitched, Leon smirked, and Gwaine outright cackled. They were just lucky she hadn’t figured out how to kill with looks yet, or they would be slain where they stood.

“What are your powers, exactly?” Lance asked politely.

“I’m a Seer,” Morgana stated, lifting her chin up with the utmost dignity. Arthur’s eyebrows twitched, as if he wanted to raise them but was trying to remain stoic. 

“Your dreams?”

“Yes. That is why I was always warning you when I had a bad dream. Eventually, when they started to come true, I knew I was dealing with more than a nightmare.”

“But why did you not come forward sooner?” Leon asked. “Magic has been accepted for quite some time.” 

Morgana looked backed into a corner. Merlin was pissed. 

“Leon,” he said, his voice admittedly unrecognizable. “I know you have good intentions, but I need you to understand that you have no idea what it’s like. To be born with something of this nature, fighting to get out of you your whole life, and having to keep it locked in? Once you do that, it’s not easy to let it back out. Because we will always remember a time when we were hunted. Lifting a ban doesn’t mean anything if the people closest to you, especially as members of the royal court, throw you away. How was she to know that you’d understand, that you wouldn’t see it as a betrayal?”

Morgana wasn’t even looking at Merlin, and she certainly wasn’t looking at Leon, who looked ashamed to have said anything now. She was looking at Arthur. “You were already hurting so bad from Merlin—”

“Stop.” Arthur held a hand up, staring daggers into the floor. “I need time. To— I need time to think. Please, no one disturb me.” And then he basically fled the room. Merlin stared after him, wanting to follow but knowing he wasn’t welcome. He wasn’t sure if now was the time to push him. Perhaps he’d give Arthur a minute to calm down.

Beside him, Percival asked, “What are you standing around here for?”

“Huh?”

“Aren’t you going to follow him?”

Merlin looked at Morgana, who was currently being coddled by no less than five people. “He didn’t want anyone to disturb him.”

Percival looked at him strangely, like he might ask if Merlin was feeling under the weather. “He never means  _ you. _ ”

***

Arthur couldn’t bring himself to light the fire. In fact, sitting on his knees in front of his fireplace with nothing but the furs and chattering of his teeth to keep him warm matched exactly how he felt at the moment.

When he heard Merlin come in, he had the strange urge to roll his eyes— Merlin never did listen to orders— but then he realized he’d never directed this order to Merlin. In fact, he’d been expecting him, if only just a little. Despite everything, he couldn’t think of a single other person in the world he’d like to talk to.

“Why am I always the last to know?” he asked. He wasn’t expecting to get an answer, but he needed to say it out loud. “Why does everyone expect the worst of me? It was bad enough when this happened with you, but my own sister? Guinevere and Lancelot already knew, that much was obvious.” He scoffed. “Lancelot. Why does everyone trust him so bloody much? Where did he even come from, anyway? He—”

“Arthur,” Merlin interjected patiently, taking a seat next to him. Warmth seeped into Arthur’s side. “ _ You  _ trust Lancelot.”

Arthur couldn’t help but grumble. Now that he knew he was keeping all these secrets, maybe he shouldn’t. But he knew he was just saying this out of hurt. Unfortunately, Lancelot had a quality about him that made one compelled to tell him things. Arthur, apparently, lacked this ability. Perhaps he had the opposite. “I’ve tried my hardest to renounce my father’s legacy. I’m still trying. But when will it be enough? Gana asked you for  _ protection  _ from me today.” He took a minute to catalogue Merlin’s face. “What?”

Merlin’s face was a mixture of annoyed and confused. “I know this is your line, but Arthur, you great bloody  _ girl.”  _

Arthur sputtered. “What?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “First of all, she wasn’t scared of you hurting her, she was scared of being alone if you rejected her. Secondly, your ability to get offended by things that have absolutely nothing to do with you specifically is honestly impressive.”

“What are you talking about?” Arthur bristled. “Of  _ course  _ it has something to do with me, I’m—”

“Not a magic user. And therefore, like I was explaining to Leon, you have no knowledge of what it’s like to have to confess to people, over and over, to the sin of being born. You think people assume the worst of you? Try living in a palace, like me and Gana, in which you have to take potions nightly to quell your power and hope it worked; knowing that sometimes it didn’t. In which you have to hope you don’t recover from illness too quickly, hope you didn’t say a life-saving spell for the prince  _ too loudly;  _ in which you have to kill your brothers and sisters for daring to seek retribution, on nothing but the faith and willpower you hoped would one day make it worth it.”

And Arthur just didn’t know what to say to that. He wanted to say yes, of course he understood, or he was trying to. Of course he wasn’t trying to make it all about him. But it’s hard being the one left behind. When they grappled with destiny, he didn’t have a choice. They had built a community around each other and forgot to give him the keys. Couldn’t Merlin see that he was just scared they were passing him by? It was selfish, yes, but he couldn’t turn off the hurt he felt just by simple logic.

“I think I get that,” he said, quiet and humbled. “I do. But… once you came back. That’s the part I’m not getting. She said she didn’t want to make my pain over you any worse, but once you returned, no one said anything. I didn’t expect Gwen to tell me. I sure as hell didn’t expect Lancelot to. But Gana? You?”

“Yes,” Merlin hummed. “I do think it would’ve been better, had she told you sooner. But really, would your reaction be all that different? Morgana didn’t think so. She has had visions of a reality in which you no longer accept her, and it’s not pretty, to say the least. Is it so bad that she wanted to keep you as you are with her for a little while longer? As for me, it wasn’t my secret to tell.”

Arthur flopped on his back and muttered under his breath. “Seems like none of them are.”

Merlin sucked in a sharp breath, and Arthur regretted his words at once. “That isn’t fair.”

But Arthur couldn’t shut it off. “You want to talk fair?” he asked sarcastically, static sparking up his brain, blood surging to his heart. He sat up breathlessly.  _ Shut up, shut up,  _ he told himself, even as he said, “You think you’ve been fair to me? You think running around, risking your life for gods know what,  _ saving my life  _ and still making me the last to know about any of it is fair? You told Lancelot and not me. You were my best friend, Merlin. And I know you have your own best friend in that druid camp now but  _ you were mine.  _ I thought we told each other everything! Now I find out that not only did my sister visit you while you were  _ dead  _ without my knowledge, but you two knew about each other? None of this is fair, Merlin.” Arthur didn’t realize he’d been coming closer and closer to Merlin until he fell back against the floor, eyes wide. Arthur didn’t think, only felt, only put two hands on either side of his head, narrowed his eyes and leaned down. “Do you know what I think about at night? I think that if you had told me, I could have protected you. I could’ve sent you back to Ealdor or at least smuggled you out of Camelot before the execution. And at least I would’ve known you were alive and safe. I think maybe you wouldn’t have gotten caught in the first place.”

Their faces were so close, they were sharing breath. Arthur couldn’t imagine how he’d felt cold before. With their bodies pressed together like this? He was burning up.

With all this passion built up over what felt like his whole life, waiting to get Merlin here, suddenly the fight they were having took a backseat. He just wanted to kiss Merlin. That was all. Okay, maybe he wanted to do a little more than kiss Merlin, but he wouldn’t dare risk it at this stage. 

Merlin’s body had yielded automatically to him, even when his mind did not— and something about that felt reverential.

And look at Arthur now. Even against his better judgement, against his reluctance to ruin things with his manservant (former manservant, now, he supposed), he couldn’t help but tilt his chin, press his leg in between Merlin’s— 

He thought, suddenly, of what the druids had said. About their destiny to be together. It was a heady feeling, to have a destiny with the one you loved, unknowingly, in the shadows.  _ Two sides of the same coin. Two halves of one whole.  _

That druid had said something about melding as one, and unfortunately Arthur had way too many ideas on ways they could… join.

Arthur listened to Merlin’s quickened breathing beneath him, his wide eyes shimmering with gold with each intake of breath— the way his body seemed to involuntarily wiggle on the ground, as if he wasn’t sure if he should make a move to leave or get comfortable— he was beautiful. Arthur now wished he had lit the fire, if only to see it gleaming on Merlin’s cheekbones.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, and then like a crashing tidal wave Arthur remembered why they were here, the extent of what just happened, all the things they said. He leaned off of him. 

Merlin must’ve seen his decision in his eyes, because his face fell, and he said, “I won’t apologize again. You know I’m sorry for keeping things from you. But I will never apologize for letting Morgana wait until she was ready, or for my actions in keeping you and Camelot safe. I use my magic for  _ you,  _ Arthur, and that’s not going to change.”

He shoved Arthur’s chest, and Arthur fell back on his hands, blinking vacantly at Merlin, once again speechless and unable to comprehend what just happened. Merlin stood up and dusted off his pants, shook out his robe. 

“And right now,” he continued, ruffling out his hair (and goddamnit, did he have to do that? It wasn’t fair— it was cheating—), “your sister is scared and hurting. Go fix it, now, before you make a mistake with her you can’t take back.”

Neither of them said anything else after that. And then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, the druids will return next time. Their visit isn't over yet! 
> 
> in the meantime, i hope you enjoyed this chapter. all the comments you leave are extraordinary and very loved and if you feel inclined to leave some more i would love that. kudos, too, if you wish <3
> 
> love u muchly  
> madi
> 
> tumblr: rageynerd  
> twitter: rageynerd

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't already, please go give Undertaker some love!! And when you're done, go give some love to the fic that inspired Undertaker! Then we can all be in pain together. 
> 
> This is my first actual attempt at fanfiction in general, and my first work writing these boys, too. I hope I'm doing them justice so far!
> 
> Please let me know what you think :)
> 
> Love u muchly  
> Madi


End file.
